


It's not gay if it's in church

by stories_and_thyme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Being Boys, Christmas Tree, Crowley has two moms and you can't stop me, Daddy Issues, Fluff, He so fuckin smart!, High School, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian rights!, M/M, Meddling Kids, Preacher's Kid, Trans Male Character, Trans!Crowley, Youth Group, a spalsh of homophobia, church, crowley is smart you fools!, it's the 90's, mlm, pastor's son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stories_and_thyme/pseuds/stories_and_thyme
Summary: Aziraphale Sanctus is a devout Christian, a perfect babysitter, a model student, and an all-american boy.Anthony J. Crowley is a occultist of sorts, an absolute shit, filled with queer rage, and an all-american reject.They couldn't be more different and yet...





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> not beta read! Tell me of mistakes!!!
> 
> inspired by: https://sgtsemisauce.tumblr.com/post/185719657625/ahaha-i-needed-an-excuse-to-make-older

The day Aziraphale met Crowley was a day he doesn’t remember all that well. He is five years old and playing outside his one family suburban home, careful not to pass white picket fencing and enter the street when he sees a child around his age pulling a red wagon full of toys. He stops running and looks meekly at the kid strolling down his road.

“U-uh Hello,” he politely calls out, his voice soft. “Are you alright? You shouldn’t be in the middle of the street, it’s dangerous.”

In return, the other child flips him a middle finger. Aziraphale doesn’t know what that gesture means yet and he takes it as some sort of odd wave. He waves back and gives a shy smile to the kid.

The child stares at him wide-eyed, in shock at the response, and then yells, “Are you some sort of freak?”

“Wh-what?”

“Why are you looking around, mind your own business!”

Aziraphale, poor little Aziraphale, frowns and cocks his head slightly in confusion. He thought he was being friendly not freaky. He watches as the other kid continues walking down the street and feels his heart sink. He’s always had a hard time making friends. Kindergarten would be starting soon and he had hoped he’d become pals with at least someone else his age, unfortunately, it seemed that he had once again failed to make a friend.

A little while later, as the sun begins to set, he’s called into the house by his mother for dinner. At the table his father says grace and then, one by one, his siblings recount their day. He listens patiently, waiting for his turn and smiles wide when his mother signals him to speak.

“I saw another child today,” he begins and his father quickly cuts him off.

“Did you go outside the fence?” He asks with his tone dropping.

“N-no, I didn’t. I just saw them--”

His mother tsks gently, “Him or her darling. People are not ‘thems’ people are either hims or hers.” This wasn’t the first time she’d told him this. She seemed rather insistent on the binary of people and while Aziraphale didn’t understand it he restructured his sentence to soothe her.

“I just saw him or her walking outside. Th--” he stumbles and then says, “He or she had red hair, I’ve never seen someone with red hair before.”

After he’s said that his oldest brother, Gabrial shakes his head. “Listen, if you see someone with red hair in this town it’s best if you don’t talk to them.” When he doesn’t elaborate Aziraphale asks why.

His father answers for him. “There is only one family who has the unfortunate luck of having red hair...the Blackwoods. We do not speak of them or to them.”

“Why?”

His father grimaces deeply, “Are you questioning me?” He doesn’t take well to his authority being questioned.

Quickly the boy amends his words, “No, I- I’m not.”

“Good.”

Conversation ceases after that. Dinner continues quietly, no one speaks. It’s tense and Aziraphale feels bad for ruining dinner. Dinner was supposed to be a time of family and unity, he feels like he’s messed up something sacred. By tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about how bad he feels but right now his tiny little mind hyper-focuses on the negative emotion.

Finally, when the sun has gone down completely and he’s being tucked into bed by his mom he hears why the family doesn’t associate with the Blackwoods. His father is telling Gabriel and Michael, who despite being strangely named is his older sister, that the Blackwoods are finalizing their “godless divorce” within the next couple of months.

Now Aziraphale understands wholly. Divorcees can not be tolerated for they go against what God had planned. A man and a woman are to be together until they both return to the Lord at death. 

~~~

The next time he sees Crowley he’s in middle school, about to enter the ninth grade, and it’s summer once again. He sits outside his front doorstep eating a popsicle when he sees a person with long auburn hair running down the street. He concludes that the person must be a girl, as she has long hair and observes her some more. She’s sweating quite a lot and he thinks she might pass out. Her face is red, redder than her hair, as she goes by he thinks about the color of her hair a little more and a memory sparks in him.

“Hey girl,” He calls out, “Where are you going?”

The girl stops in her path-- rather suddenly to add-- and sneers at him. “I’m a boy dickwad!” He has an accent, sounds British and Aziraphale find his voice, despite the abrasive words, gorgeous.

Crowley doesn’t say anything else. He starts running again. Half of him wants to run after the boy but the other half remembers that he's trouble.

Not even a minute later a woman, disheveled and a mess, is sprinting the same direction Crowley is. She’s cursing wildly as she makes her way down the street. Aziraphale figures that must be Mrs. Blackwood-- or whatever she’s calling herself now a day since the divorce is finished now.

~~~

On the first day of Junior year Aziraphale-- not that he was looking or anything-- spots a redhead. He’s seen this boy over the course of many years and to this day still doesn’t know his name. Well, he knows his surname but not his first and that’s what matters. 

Time has passed and now he’s the oldest in the house so now he can make and break the house rules. As he moves away from his collection of siblings in the parking lot he heads towards Crowley with a grin.

The first thing he notices about the lanky boy is how much black he’s wearing and how much occult paraphernalia he has littered around his outfit. His shirt is anything but subtle as in the middle, in large white print, there is Dagon The Great Fish’s summoning configuration. Demons were dangerous, Aziraphale knew that well but he had come to say ‘hi’ and he wasn’t leaving until he did just that.

The second thing he notices is that he can not see Crowley’s eyes. There are wide-rimmed sunglasses blocking his view. He wonders why that is and tries to think back to when he was a kid how his eyes looked but he finds he can’t recall.

Sticking out his hand he says: “Hello, my name is--”

“Aziraphale,” the other boy interrupts with a smirk. He still has that twangy British accent on him, it doesn’t sound fake which only makes him more interested in where and how he got it. “I know, your that bible thumping catholic boy, right? One of 500 kids right? Preachers son?”

His face falls, “I’m not Catholic...” And then after a moment, he says “There are not five-hundred of us. There are only 12.”

Crowley shakes his head, “Like the 12 disciples?”

“Oh,” he lifts his head higher in surprise and his golden curls bounce, “you know something of religion?”

“Don’t look so surprised angel,” He rolls his eyes. “And it’s not all religions it’s just Christianity. Don’t act so high and mighty.”

Aziraphale awkwardly stares at him when he says the word ‘angel’ but doesn’t mention it out loud. If Crowley notices his shock he doesn’t comment on it either. “I wasn’t trying to claim that Christianity was--”

“Yeah, I know I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh,” a small uncomfortable laugh escapes him and then he adds, “You never told me your name.”

“I guess I didn’t.”

He waits a moment before prompting him again. “Well…?”

“Call me Crowley,” he shrugs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his too tight skinny jeans. That can not be up to the dress code.

A much more genuine smile spreads on Aziraphale’s face. “Okay then, will do. I’ll see you around sometime I suppose?”

“We go to the same school, of course, I’ll see you some other time.”

“Right well, I look forward to it.”

Crowley creases his brow but just nods. “Cool, I look forward to it too then.”

All poor Aziraphale can think about for the rest of the day is how unpleasant that conversation was. He hadn't known what to do or even what to expect but what he had done clearly wasn't the right thing. The two of them were stiff the entire time they talked, that's not the start of a friendship.

At lunch his younger brother Uriel, a freshman walks up to him and asks what he was doing talking to Crowley. He simply shrugs and says, “Being friendly of course, nothing new.” Uriel accepts the answer although not convinced and continues walking down the cafeteria aisle to his set of friends.

Aziraphale has always been a loner but not from a lack of trying. In fact, it’s probably the exact opposite: he tries too hard and that immediately makes others wary of him. He came to piece that he was always going to be friend-less a long time ago, maybe even back in first or second grade, but seeing his younger brother so effortlessly blend into the crowd of high school stung a little.

The rest of the day passes without incident. He sees a few people he’s acquaintance with such as Newt, a boy in his computer science class, and Anathema who is hands down the smartest kid in his small town. Because they were all somewhat nerdy they tended to stick together but they weren't pals really.

The rest of his family seems to have dispersed living him to walk home alone himself but he can’t be bothered to mind. Even though there were fewer kids in the house now, only him and three other siblings, sometimes it got too loud for him to just breathe and think around them.

He loved his family, don’t get him wrong! He loved them more than God loved her creations-- well maybe not that much because that’s a little blasphemous but you understand the sentiment don’t you?

Anyway, he began walking home through the forest when a voice calls his name from behind him. He turns to see the face of Crowley with an odd neutral look to him.

“Crowley? Hello I--”

“Shut up,” the taller of the two says as he walks closer, his steps heavy with purpose. “Did someone put you up to talk to me? Did someone dare you, prank you, or anything like that?”

“Good heavens nothing of the sort,” Aziraphale shakes his head confused. “No one talks to me.” He adds for good measure and then feels pathetic as it leaves his mouth.

Not knowing how to respond to that Crowley does what he does best and ignores the statement. “Okay cool. Just had to make sure, I don’t trust anybody around here.”

A breeze rolls through the trees of the forest and Aziraphale asks why not.

“I haven’t been here, like living in this town, in over ten years. I don’t know you,” he waves his hands around to show he’s talking about the town, “people.” He continues his explanation. “I know this is all about small-town u.s.a stuff is supposed to make me feel at home but in comparison to London it just feels like--”

“You lived in London?!”

Crowley stares pointedly at the boy. “Don’t interrupt me. Yeah, I lived in London, so what?”

“So what?” He rolls his eyes overly dramatic, “So what was it like? I’ve never even been outside of the country let alone lived somewhere else! That’s exciting.”

“No, it isn’t angel.”

“You said it again.”

“What again,” he asks legitimately not know what he did.

“You called me angel again. Why?”

“You look like one.” Crowley just said that without a hint of playful banter. He meant what he said honestly.

Aziraphale sputters, “What?”

“Like, look at you. Blond hair, vibrant blue eyes, porcelain skin, you are like what every European thinks an angel looks like.” His face feels hot after he finishes and he starts walking past Aziraphale on the trail.

Turning around and following after him he wonders aloud, “Is that a compliment?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I much prefer positive things over negative things yes.”

“Well then sure, it’s a compliment.”

The then stop conversating Aziraphale finds himself just following Crowley to wherever he might be headed regardless of if that’s near his house. They walk for what feels like about ten minutes when the shorter boy recognizes the street they’re about to turn on and says, “My house!”

“Yeah, uh your house…”

“How’d you know where I lived?”

Crowley pushes up his glasses and shuffles. “I used to run past your house a lot when I ran away from home, I uh don’t know if you remember.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale face turns into a happy but small smile at the memories. “I do in fact remember.”

“Cool well,” he motions towards the house with the white picket fence, “Bye I guess.”

“Goodbye, have a nice night.”

He mutters, “Uh, you too.” And then turns heel to get home. He doesn’t know what time it is but it’s probably later than he said he’d be home and he doesn’t want to make his mother’s pissed or worried.

It takes him fifteen minutes to get to his house from Aziraphale’s as it’s on the other side of town and when he does his stepmother, mama, is tending the flowers outside of the home.

“Welcome home kid, I thought you got lost.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he tells her as he walks up the driveway and through the one-car garage into the house.

She sighs and says, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Like he was running some sort of program he heads directly for his room and opens up one of his desk drawers to pull out a notebook and a pen. He then throws himself onto his bed, opens the book and writes down these words:

‘Aziraphale Sanctus ~~might be~~ is my newest crush because he was nice to me for five minutes and apparently that’s enough to make me interested... FUCK MY LIFE.’

He then rips out the page, grabs a lighter and sets fire to the page. As he watches the paper crumple and burns he thinks about how he’s going to stop his tiny crush from becoming bigger.

He hasn’t the faintest idea.


	2. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want a church girl who goes to church and reads her bible~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: homophobia from angel and dehumanization all during the second section
> 
> also if you see mistakes tell me.

They two don't see each other until Friday. Crowley ends up skipping Tuesday for some much needed alone time as the summer simply was too short and the other school days they just don't seem to ever bump into one another.

On Friday though, right before the last bell rings, Aziraphale walks into the bathroom nearest to the theater class and sees Crowley without his glasses on and he’s applying mascara in the dirty mirror.

“You wear make-up?” He says suddenly without announcing his entry.

Crowley jumps in shock and shuts his eyes tight. He then fumbles around for his glasses but in his blind attempts to grab them, he knocks them off the sink and on to the tile floor.

Aziraphale figures he ought to help him out and reaches over to grab the accessory. He grabs one of Crowley’s hands and places the glasses gently in the palm of it.

Once he's got his sunglasses back on he opens his eyes once again and sees that it's Aziraphale who has walked in on him. He shoots him something close enough to a smile of recognition before replying.

“Oh, yeah I wear make-up,” he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. He’s rather self-conscious about his fashion choices despite knowing that what he wears is fine as hell. “But it’s only light stuff, that a problem?”

“Hm,” he shakes his head fast, “goodness no I was simply making an observation, that's all.”

“Okay then...so why are you here angel?”

Aziraphale raises a brow at that question. “I am here to pee. That is what most people do in the restroom, is it not?”

“Sometimes people take a shit.”

“That’s a-- that is incredibly crude of you!” As he says this he looks at the boy’s glasses hoping to reach his eyes as he scolds.

He shrugs again, “Yeah, whatever, I’m sorta crude myself Zira.”

“Zira?”

“Well, I don’t know if you actually like me calling you angel and your name is too damn long so I’ve improvised.”

“Oh, well then how splendid. No one has ever done that for me before.”

“Didn’t you say you needed to piss,” Crowley asks. “I shouldn’t keep you waiting.” And then he’s walking past Aziraphale without another word.

Aziraphale barely has time to say bye before the bathroom door closes and he’s alone. What an odd encounter once again. One of these days he hopes they’ll have much more natural, normal conversations but it seems like today simply is not the day.

He does his business and leaves the restroom to go back to class and as soon as he enters the bell rings for him to leave. As he grabs his bag Anathema crosses the classroom over to him, and without a greeting, questions him.

“Are you talking to Anthony J. Crowley?”

“Who,” he responds more than a little confused.

“Anthony Janthony Crowley, I heard from some of the girls who gossip at the west end of the courtyard during lunch a few days ago that you were talking to him and when I told Newton he laughed and said you had more self-preservation than that. I, however, do not think so highly of you so are in fact talking to the devil?”

He frowns as his other classmates as well as the teacher has already left the room and he doesn’t quite feel like talking about this. “He’s not the devil. That’s horribly offensive and as a religious man myself I--”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Yes,” He huffs crossing his arms, “So I talked to him. Once. So what?”

“Only once?”

“That’s what I said is it not?”

Her face mirror the disbelief she feels inside at the reply. “My woman's intuition thinks otherwise,” She tells him.

He stares at her and then, after a moment of silence asks her, “Did you just say Janthony?”

“Yes.”

He squints at her. “That is not his middle name.”

“No, no I’m certain it is,” She assures him. “I’m never wrong.”

“That is the worst middle name known to man.”

“Why do you think he says just J?”

"This is silly."

"Yeah?" She points an accusing finger at him. "Well you talking to him is silly. No, actually it's crazy."

"I can handle myself very well thank you very much."

At that moment his brother Uriel and sister Zerachiel pop their heads into the classroom. "Come on, we've got to go home," Zerachiel says and Uriel gives him a smile.

"Don't worry big bro, you can chat with your girlfriend later."

"She is not my girlfriend," He stresses the last word hard and waves goodbye. "See you later Ms. Device, I hope you've come to your senses next time we talk."

"Whatever, bye Aziraphale."

~~~

On Sunday morning at five in the morning, Aziraphale’s father barges into his room and yells at him to wake up. It’s time to prepare the church for worship and as the oldest in the house, which means he can’t sleep in but instead is in charge of opening for the morning.

Groggily he stumbles out of his bed and down the stairs to the kitchen. Grabbing a slice of bread to toast and an avocado he makes his breakfast. After he’s finished eating and washing his knife and plate he takes a glance at the grandfather clock that sits in his dining room.

It’s five fifteen by now and he hurries upstairs to grab his Sunday best. In his closet, there is a light brown tweed suit that he enjoys wearing so he puts it on with a white undershirt not even realizing that he wore the same thing last Sunday. He ties a navy blue tie around his neck in a Windsor knot, grabs his bible, and with that, he’s out of the house.

The church his family takes care of is actually rather close, only a three-minute walk. Once he reaches the front door he takes out the front door key from inside his bible and unlocks the pure white doors into the chapel.

The five-thirty sunrise shines through the stained glass to create a glorious mirage of colors which causes Aziraphale to let out a tiny gasp. This is obviously not the first time he’s seen such a display but it never fails to amaze him.

Quickly he gets to work checking the inventory of all the bibles and hymn sheets in the pews. Once he sees everything is in order, he goes to the church’s kitchen and grabs the coffee dispenser and donuts to put on the banquet table, He’s found that people tend to be hungry at six-fifteen when service starts so he recently started having a small breakfast available for the congregation.

Aziraphale’s parents come into the church right after he finishes setting up and then a few minutes later his siblings enter. Eventually, other people arrive including a set of children who call themselves the Them. Why they call themselves that no one but the group knows. It's a mystery to all outsiders.

The Them consists of Adam Young and his friends Wensleydale, Pepper, and Brian. All of them were great children and rather polite so Aziraphale found the four of them rather agreeable. Pepper ran in with Adam, talking a little too loudly for the chapel but no one said anything, and Brian and Wensleydale walked behind the two at a much more calming speed.

It was five minutes until service started and Mr. Sanctus was opening his Good Book prepared to start his sermon when Aziraphale sees the red hair peeking out from someone who’s hunching over in a pew. 

His father grabs his arm as he makes his way over to the person.

“Son, where are you going? You know you’re supposed to stay up here with me during service.”

“I know, however…” He thinks fast for a lie and spits out, “I must go to the bathroom.”

His father, clearly not believing him, scowls and tells him not to take long. He beelines to the back of the church. While passing the red hair he taps the shoulder of the person and they look up.

Sure enough, it’s Crowley and Aziraphale nearly trips over himself when his eyes meet those dark black sunglasses.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak but Aziraphale silences him with a hand. “Not here,” he mouths and continues his path to the bathrooms. He half hopes that the redhead will follow him but the other half of him prays he’ll just sit there and not make a fuss.

His prayers are answered and Crowley doesn’t move. He pretends to use the restroom and comes back, one-minute late mind you, to start service. 

Nothing is too interesting about today’s sermon but at the end of it his father hisses in his ear something rather nasty about the church no longer being a holy place as long as “that thing” is sitting in the chapel.

Aziraphale figures he means Crowley. He doesn’t know why he said thing though, his father is a bastard but he doesn’t-- well he’s never before at least-- dehumanized someone like that. He doesn’t respond to his father’s comment instead he hopes he’ll stop.

He doesn’t.

It goes on for several more minutes after service is over. Mr. Sanctus berates Crowley with a rather strong language in the minister’s room with Aziraphale forced to tune out his words. Finally, after what feels like hours he shuts up and his son manages to make a hasty escape out of the church to find Crowley.

He sees the boy with red hair walking down the path a little ways outside the front doors and stage whispers Crowley’s name to grab the teen's attention.

The boy turns around and stops walking giving Aziraphale time to catch up. Once he does he was one question on his mind and immediately asks it.

“Is your middle name Janthony?”

“Woah,” Is all Crowley can say. He was not expecting that to come out of his mouth. “Here I thought you were going to ask me why I came to your church but I guess--”

“Why would I ask that? All are welcome,” he points to the sign on the front of the lawn, “It says so right on the board.”

“I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t clear judging by how your fuckin dad--”

“Language!” He cries and whips his head around to see if any small children were nearby. The coast was clear.

Snorting Crowley continues what he was saying. “Listen, your dad was shooting daggers into my head the entire time. How’d you not notice?”

“I was focused on today's lesson. Did you pay attention to the sermon today?”

“Hell no.”

Aziraphale shakes his vigorously and brings his hands up to Crowley’s mouth. “You curse too much, you should not be so vulgar, it reflects poorly on your character.”

“Thanks mom,” he scoffs. “I already have three mothers, I don’t need four.”

“Three? How in the heavens does that work dear?”

Crowley conveniently doesn’t mention Aziraphale’s use of the word ‘dear.’ “Well Zira I have a stepmom on my father’s side-- she’s a total bitch by the way. I also have a stepmom who I call mama on my biological mom’s side so there, three moms.”

“I’m sorry but how can your mother be with another woman?”

“Well she’s a lesbian, so jot that down real quick.”

“Oh!” It clicks in Aziraphale’s mind all very fast and he internally panics. He’s never met a lesbian and he was quite content never knowing one. “I’m sorry then…”

“For my bitch of a stepmom? Thanks, I’m sorry too.”

“No, no. For your…mama as you said. You shouldn’t have to be exposed to their lifestyle. I mean she’s not even married to your mother in the eyes of the law, let alone in the eyes of God.”

Crowley blinks and his lips curl into a mean smile. “Fuck you too I guess,” he growls. “Didn’t realize you were a piece of shit, though I really should have known considering where you’re from.”

No, it’s Aziraphale’s turn to blink. “What did I say wrong?” If anything he believes he was rather nice to give his condolences.

“You are--” he cuts himself off with an exasperated sigh. “Never mind. Just, go fuck yourself and uh, never talk to me again for as long as I fucking live. And for the record, my middle name isn’t Janthony. I don't know who the hell told you that.” Those are Crowley’s last words before he begins to walk home leaving the blond boy to just stare in confusion.

~~~

Later that Sunday night his father calls him into his office to have a serious discussion. He nervously shuffles himself in and his father starts his lecture. Aziraphale thinks it’s going to be about him fraternizing, if you could call it that, with Crowley but it’s a completely different issue.

“Son, when are you going to take Anathema Device on a date.” He asks this question without even looking up from his bible.

What’s the boy to say or do? He and his father have never in their life talked about girls and he has never in his life mentioned any attraction to Anathema. After a beat, he sputters out lamely, “I-- Uh, what on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

“That is that girl's name correct? The smart one?”

“Yes.” he nods weakly, “that’s her name. But we’re just friends!”

“You know when Gabriel was your age...” he begins and Aziraphale stifles a groan. It’s always about Gabriel, the first son, the best son, the straight-laced goody-two-shoes son. Gabriel is perfect, he could never do wrong.

“So that’s why you should take the girl on a date.” His father concludes and he realizes he’s blocked out the entire conversation. He agrees to ask Anathema out on a date but tells Mr. Sanctus that he might get rejected.

His father’s response is “Then keep trying. Don’t give up, make her give in.”

Dazed and tired he walks away and to his bedroom after the talk. As he falls on his bed he closes his eyes and lets his mind drift to Anathema. And then it drifts to Anathema and him. And then his eyes widen and he finds he’s feeling disgusted at the idea. 

Momentarily he wonders about why he’s never liked any girls. He pushes that thought to the back of his mind, that’s not a problem to deal with tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, y'all I promise you they will get gay in a church eventually but I need that light angst. I promise that in the next chapter Azidfmsfsfk will reevaluate his life choices and make a nice and accurate apology to Crawlee for insulting his family.
> 
> also give me kudos and comments if you feel like it. I would love you forever if you did :)


	3. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema and Aziraphale go on a "date"!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub is a trans girl in my world!  
> This is not beta'd as im at Comic Con San Diego right now and i wrote this on my phone. Pls tell me if there are mistakes!

Monday morning leaves Crowley hurting. He opens his eyes as the rising sun hits his face and he growls at nothing in particular as he winces at the light. He’s sensitive to sunlight and that's partially why he wears his glasses. But just partiality.

His house a quaint cottage-style single family home on the edge of the town. It had only one story so when he stepped out of his bedroom he could hear loud and clear is birth mother making breakfast.

Sluggishly he walks into the kitchen and gives her a good morning kiss.

“Hey, how was Church yesterday?” She asks trying hard not to laugh. She's never been a religious woman and her son never struck her as the type either.

He sighs and grabs a piece of bacon still on the fryer. He’s got an odd talent of never getting burned no matter how close to an open flame and he uses that to his advantage. “Was fucking shite.”

She tuts. “I don't know why you went anyway. You don't even have a bible, Anthony.”

He shrugs and points to the bacon he’s chewing as an excuse as to why he can't verbalize his response. It's horseshit, he's never had manners and he's not starting to get any today. She lets him go however and doesn't press. 

He's never been a big eater and today is a testament to his habits. He only has a few bacon slices before he slinks away to get ready for the day.

Crowley grabs a shirt from his dirty clothes pile and sprays it with Febreze despite it not actually smelling bad. He then grabs one of his many pairs of skinny jeans. He does a quick check of himself in the mirror and calls it a good effort and with that, he's out the door to school.

His mothers have both awoken at this point and wish him a great school day. He mutters something back in reply that doesn't sound nearly as enthusiastic as the sentences before his.

His first class is an easy one, theater. If his memory was wiped and he was left in the middle of the woods to survive on his own, there is one thing that would come back to him immediately: theatrics. Crowley was dramatic, he was over the top, he was unapologetically a drama king and he didn't care. ‘Cause he knew he was damn good at what he did. And what he did was elaborate and extricate the truth.

He had a few acquaintances in that class too like Beelzebub who, contrary to her name doesn’t like flies all that much. The two of them had a weird relationship built off mutual gender confusion and love for chaotic events. If Crowley was to start a Dungeons and Dragons campaign he’d definitely want to have Beelzebub in the campaign.

His next few classes are all normal, boring, required classes such as physics and Pre-Calc. They go by in a blur and before he can even blink he’s heading to the cafeteria for lunch. While in the lunch line he spots Aziraphale up against a wall on the other side of the cafeteria with a nervous expression only a bit away from some girl Crowley doesn't know but had definitely seen around. She seemed to have her head buried in a book. Interesting setting.

~~~

If you told Aziraphale two days ago that he was going to coerce his only female friend into having a date with him he would have asked you if you had bumped your head on something dreadfully sharp. But now, as he stands just a few steps away from Anathema, he replays his game plan in his head. He takes a deep breath and says to her rapid fire: “I was told to ask you out and now I need to go on a date with you.”

Anathema looks up from her copy of  _ War & Peace  _ and cracks a lopsided grin. “What?”

“Date, I said date dear.” He looks at her very seriously, “Please keep up. I need you to go on a date with me or else my father’s going to keep pestering about not having a girlfriend.”

“I’m not going to date you,” She shakes her head and puts a hand on her hip.

He flushes crimson and then rolls his eyes. “I’m not asking you to date me. I’m asking you to go on a singular date with me.”

Suddenly, as if on a whim, she asks, “Do you even like girls?” But the way she says it makes it clear it wasn’t a question. She stares at him with a piercing eye that leaves Aziraphale uncomfortably squirmy. He glances downward and begins to wring his hands.

“Th-that’s a stupid question Anathema.” He takes a shaky breath and raises his eyes again back to here. “Of course I like girls.”

“Mhm,” she nods as if she agrees but says nothing more. The couple stands in silence until she speaks again. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll go?” Hope is prevalent in his tone. 

“Yes, I’ll go but only one date.”

He beams at her with the widest, most angelic smile. “Oh thank the heavens. Thank you so much Ms. Device, I owe you.”

“Yeah you do but let’s do dinner okay?”

“The Ritz family dinner?”

“Oh, the Ritz? Fancy,” she jokes but grants him the scene of the date. She knows it’s a comfort area for him after all. “Should I bring money or…?”

“No, no it’s a date, I’m supposed to pay.”

“First of all,” says turning back to her novel, “most women pay for their own meals nowadays and second of all, how was I supposed to know?” She lowers her voice conspiratorially and bends over to whisper in his ear. “This is a fake date after all.” 

Once again Aziraphale’s face burns a bright crimson. “I prefer the words spurious date, not fake date.”

Standing back up-right she lets out a huff of amusement. “That means the same thing.”

“But most people don’t know what spurious means, my father included.”

“Well most people around here aren’t as smart as you and I so that’s fair.”

“So it’s a date?”

“It’s a date,” She agrees then tells him, “pick me up Wednesday between five-thirty and six okay?”

“Will do.”

~~~

Crowley stops watching after the second round of Aziraphale’s blushes. He feels an emotion comparable to jealousy but he denies that because why would he be jealous? He hates Aziraphale. Yeah, that’s right he loathes him. He’s, what Crowley would call, a fucking wanker. Yup, that’s exactly how Crowley feels about him. Nothing but intense dislike.

And yet as he watches the two part ways he can’t help but be invested in whatever it was they were just talking about. He tries to clear his head for the rest of the day but he just can’t stop thinking about what made Aziraphale so red in the face. He finds himself desperate to know.

The remainder of the school day is largely unimportant. As it’s only the second week most of the classes are still on review material and Crowley, being the intelligent guy he is, doesn’t need to pay attention as he knows the material already. This leaves him with his own thoughts as he ignores his teachers droning. Horrible idea really as his own thoughts keep coming back to what he saw at lunch. 

Damn it.

Finally though when the last bell rings he’s able to bolt out of the classroom and find something to distract himself with. Grabbing his Discman from inside his backpack he puts on his headphones and let Queen’s song,  _ Modern Times Rock n Roll _ , swarm his senses.

He hums the tune as he walks out of the building and any watching him would call his gait a saunter by the way his hips moved oddly rhythmic of each other. He was so caught up in his own little world that he didn’t even notice that he was about two seconds away from hitting the flagpole outside of the schoolyard. Luckily, or unluckily depending on your viewpoint, he was yanked back by the sleeve of his jacket.

“Wh- Hey, what the fuck man…” His words died in his throat when he saw who had pulled on him. Aziraphale stood behind him with worry in his eyes and a hand on his jacket.

“You were going to hit that pole,” he explains almost skittish.

Crowley pauses his music with a displeased sigh. “Okay? I remember telling you to go fuck yourself yesterday so I’m not too grateful.”

“I wanted to apologize about that--”

“Oh,” He snorts cruelly, “You wanted to apologize for yesterday? Fuck off, I don’t want your damn apology you holier than thou piece of shit.”

He tries anyway. “I’m sorry--”

“Nope.”

“But I--”

“Shut up.”

“But please--”

He then pushes Aziraphale back roughly as a warning. “Get a hint and leave me the hell alone,” Crowley sneers at him with a deadly serious tone. He looks down at the blonde with furrowed brows and internally begs him to leave him alone.

Ultimately Aziraphale gives up, only after weighing his options which all looked horrible, and allows Crowley to stalk away without an apology. He doesn’t know how to mollify the relationship though and that makes him anxious, to say the least. He’s not sure why he’s all of a sudden grown attached to the idea of Crowley and him being friends but he has and he doesn’t want to give up on that. Not yet at least.

He goes home with his little brother Uriel today. Uriel confesses, after a little brotherly interrogation, that he told their dad about Anathema. He then asks if Aziraphale is mad at him to which the reply is “Perhaps, but I know you were just trying to help.”

At dinner like always, everyone goes through their day and Aziraphale tells his family that on Wednesday he’ll be going on a dinner date with Anathema. His father explodes with untapped pride and joy. 

“There you go, attaboy!” He says boastfully. “I knew you could do it, and the first time too, that takes skill.”

Aziraphale reminds him, “We still might not be dating though. It’s only one date.”

To which his mother says, “What kind of floozy goes on a date with a man she doesn’t want to be dating? If she rejects you after a date she might just be a harlot.”

Aziraphale is never amazed at how many nice ways there are to call a woman a whore. His mother loves to use all of those ways to speak about other women, she’s certainly interesting that way.

~~~

Wednesday evening arrives at an alarming rate and Aziraphale is mulling over what to wear. He knows this isn’t a real date, he doesn’t even want this to be a real date, but the nerves still get to him. In the end, he wears what he normally wears, a button-down with a tartan vest and slacks. 

It should be noted that while he can legally drive and he has a driver's license he happens to be awfully bad at well, you know, driving. An example of this would be right now as he got ready to go back out of his driveway to pick-up Anathema he accidentally puts the car in drive instead of reverse and nearly rams into his garage.

This was going to be a long night.

Somehow, someway Anathema and Aziraphale miraculously make it to The Ritz without crashing into any other cars, pedestrians, or trees. They sit down at a table for two in the front of the restaurant and he tells her she looks beautiful.

“Thank you,” She says, “I know I do. And you look nice as always.” She’s wearing a long sleeved dark blue dress with tasteful frills upon the neckline. 

Their waitress comes to take their order and Aziraphale orders a burger for himself and one of every sweet for the table. Anathema, with her knowledge of just how much she can eat, gets a cobb salad.

As the waitress leaves he starts talking again. “So, why'd you agree to come anyway? I’m obviously very much grateful for your sacrifice but don't you have something...more to do?”

She tilts her head and then shakes it. “We practically live, breathe, and eat school. You know I had nothing else to do tonight. Besides you're my friend and friends help each other out.”

“Oh.” This might be the first time she's ever called him her friend out loud. He fights the urge to wildly grin and make a fool of himself.

“So,” she pauses as the waitress brings them their waters and then continues, “I heard that Crowley now attends your church...are you sure you only spoke to him once?”

He sputters out of control for a moment as he's just begun drinking. “Who told you that?” 

“A little birdy...or four,” she playfully winks.

“The Them, of course, those rapscallions would tell you that.”

“Yes, of course, they would. I am their favorite babysitter after all.”

“You are not,” he refutes with a wag of his finger. “I am the favorite. We both know that.”

She opens her mouth into a wide ‘o’ of shock at how confidently he says the statement and then lets out a laugh. “Maybe in your dreams.”

“Heavens, that's just cruel.”

Anathema doesn’t disagree. “But let’s get back on topic, why was he there?”

“It’s a church dear, people come in for spiritual guidance.”

“Yeah,” she dismisses quickly, “that’s not what he was doing I guarantee it.”

“It doesn’t matter because I highly doubt he’ll ever step foot in my church again.”

She raises a brow at that. “Why?”

“I gave him my condolences for his parentage and he, for some reason, took it rather hard.”

Biting her lips Anathema thinks for a moment. “Well,” she starts hesitantly, “what did you say?”

“I apologized for his mother being a lesbian.”

She stares at him with the biggest expression of utter awe known to man. “You did what?”

“I said--”

“Oh, no, I heard you,” she snaps with an irked twitch of her eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

Aziraphale’s gut sinks. She’s reacting the same way Crowley had. Why? “What did I say that was wrong?”

The difference between Crowley and Anathema is a lengthy list. The most notable difference, however, is when angry Crowley runs away from situations while Anathema runs towards. “Look, I know you’re a huge church-goer and I love that about you Aziraphale but your religion doesn’t get to dictate everyone else's lives.”

“That’s not what I’m saying though--”

She squints at him. “Shh, I’m talking now. Like I was saying: your views stem from Christianity’s Bible which is not only younger than the first recorded date of a homosexual but also written by humans. Humans have agendas Aziraphale,” she ends the sentence with a knowing look.

“Fine, but what about--”

“Oh, I’m still not done talking. Who gives you the right anyway?”

When he doesn't respond she prompts him. “You may speak now.”

“Ah, well It’s my God-given duty to help souls, especially lost ones, get to heaven as a Christian I suppose.”

“You suppose,” she repeats carefully. “But you don't know for sure do you? Did God tell you to do such a thing?”

“Well God doesn't really directly speak to me…”

“So you don't know if what your doing is right.”

“I guess so.”

At that moment their waitress returns with plates in her hands. She sets the plates down and tells the two to enjoy their meal. She then winks at Anathema while complimenting her outfit.

As the woman walls away Aziraphale says softly, “I believe she was hitting on you.”

Barely holding in a chuckle she says, “I know.”

“And you're okay with that,” he asks clearly shaken about how nonchalant she seemed about the matter. If another boy hit on him he’d probably kneel over and die from embarrassment.

Stopping her fork midway through a bite she raises an eyebrow at him in puzzlement. Then she raises the other eyebrow in shock. Finally, after Aziraphale thinks for sure her face has frozen in a permanently surprised position she lets out a nice and hearty laugh and drops her fork back down to her plate.

“I enjoy the company of women much more than the company of men Aziraphale. Surely you of all people should have noticed how I keep dodging Newt’s advantages.” When he doesn't speak up she says, “Oh wow. You had no idea, huh?”

“N-no,” he’s beyond flustered at this point. He's clueless, so incredibly clueless. “So are you…” he can't bring himself to say the word so he just looks at her hoping she'll finish for him.

Anathema puts another forkful of her salad into her mouth, chews, and swallows before answering him. “No, I am not a homosexual woman also known as a lesbian.” She doesn't elaborate, instead continuing to eat. “Also, eat your food it's good to have some sort of viable substance before you eat all those sweets you’ve ordered.”

Taking her advice he begins to eat his burger and fries. They fall into a lull of silence as they both work on their entrees only speaking when their waitress makes her rounds by the table. Eventually, dessert comes out and as he nibbles on a slice of strawberry cheesecake Anathema pipes up again.

“Have you apologized to him?”

“I tired, however, I don't think he wants anything to do with me now. He was rather loud and irritated when I made an attempt today.”

“Try again tomorrow.”

Aziraphale wrestles with himself for a while before forcing himself to ask, “Why do you seem to know about Crowley?”

She blinks, then says after a moment, “Well I’m sort of intrigued by occultism at the moment and he’s my best shot at occultist things. You know how he wears all that weirdly cryptic clothing? Well I saw him one day at the grocery store sometime over the summer wearing a hoodie with symbols I didn't recognize and from there I researched more about what it means to be an occultist.”

“Are you becoming a witch Anathema?”

“No, I’m becoming an occultist,” she smiles slyly.

“Of course, my mistake,” he humors her.

At the end of the night, Anathema returns to her house but only after two near-death experiences on the road from The Ritz. The first was a deer that jumped out in front of the car and the second was Aziraphale forget how to start the car again after stopping at a stoplight. Another car nearly hit them and the couples wailed like babies waiting as they waited to be slammed into by another car barreling down the lane. Luckily the other car stopped just in time. Nonetheless, Anathema silently vowed to herself to never get into a cad again with Aziraphale. He was simply the worst driver she’d ever encountered and she would love to never encounter his driving again.

Mr. Sanctus grills Aziraphale immediately as he enters the house for the night and he’s made to convince his father before he can go to bed that yes, he did, in fact, go on a date with Ms. Device, no he was not a scoundrel who had sex with her in the middle of the woods, and yes he was a perfect gentleman the entirety of the evening.

As he shuffles upstairs be feels the exhaust set in. Changing into his pajamas he continues to try and format a new apology for Crowley. He decides to sleep on it and calls it a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not beta'd as im at Comic Con San Diego right now and i wrote this on my phone. Pls tell me if there are mistakes!
> 
> comment and kudoz me please


	4. A lot goes on in a small town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zzzzzzzzzz bitches new ship alert   
> also  
> kids doing stuff  
> also  
> lesbians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet y'all already know what ship in the background i'm about to introduce dontcha?
> 
> anyway I got my wisdom teeth removed a few hoirs ago and lemme tell you: I HAVE NEVER FELT M ORE ALIVE LEGIT I WROTE TWO WHOLE CHAPTERS TODAY AND THEN RELIZED I DIDN'T EVEN POST THIS ONE! ARE THEY ANY GOOD IDK BUT I'M DRUGGED AND READING TO GO!

The next day, Thursday during lunch hour, is when Aziraphale and Crowley cross paths again. It's completely on mistake too, not planned in the slightest. 

With a book underneath his arm Crowley struts into the library ready to return an informational manuscript on the Salem Witch Trials. For once he’s got his head held up looking forward but momentarily something catches his eye on the ground. It's a penny. He reaches to pick it up but unfortunately it seems to be glued down as he pulls too hard and recoils back into someone whose head is hidden by a large Eastern History textbook.

The two collide, fall down and both say “Sorry--” before cutting themselves off. On the floor across from him lays Aziraphale Sanctus clearly in a daze as he slowly realizes who he’s just bumped into.

Crowley quickly picks himself up not wanting to get into a conversation with the other boy but doesn't get far as he trips over his own feet in his attempted escape. The red head, back on the floor with his pride bruised twice as much and his hip probably bruised just as bad, let's out a pitiful moan of defeat. 

Struggling with what to say Aziraphale asks, “Are you okay?”

To which he replies with, “Bloody Brilliant.”

A beat goes by and Aziraphale launches into his messy apology. It's beautifully honest, raw, and profound. Clearly he’s had some time to think about his actions and words. Crowley listens to him in awe at how sincere his words sound. He doesn't stutter like he did during his last attempt, his words are crisp and simple.

He ends with, “...all this is to say: I’m sorry Crowley. I was completely out of line with my comments and I hope you can forgive me.” And what is the other supposed to do? Not forgive him? No, no he reasons, anyone who wasn't truly sorry wouldn't have gone through all that trouble now would they?

The confession leaves his mouth dry as the realness if Aziraphales’s words hit him. “Don't sweat it,” is all Crowley manages to get out. He licks his lips and begins to think of how much introspection such an apology must have taken. Really commendable to say the least.

“Don't sweat it,” Aziraphale repeats once again daze-like.

“Yeah,” he extends his hand, “We're cool now.”

They shake on it, stand up, and go about their day.

Later that afternoon Anathema, while discussing her babysitting schedule for the week, asks Aziraphale how it went and she's met with a glowing smile.

“It went well I presume?”

“Splendid It went splendidly,” he concurs, his smile brighter than ever.

~~~

It’s Saturday afternoon, just half-past two, when someone comes knocking on the Crowley’s front door. He doesn't get up at first as he's used to so many solicitors in London knocking that he doesn't even consider the fact that it could be anything else.

After the third knock however he gets up off his couch to see who it is. A girl, probably in the beginnings of middle school or finishing up elementary school, stands outside his doorway with a big stick in both hands.

“Uh--”

“Silence man.” She then declares, “You will come with me and my friends to the creek and you will tell us all you know.”

Staring at her confused he racks his brain for any semblance of knowledge as to who she is. “Friends?”

She looks behind her, then looks beside herself and whines at a frequency only dogs can hear. Well, dogs and Pepper. 

“Adam, you're the leader! You're supposed to be with me!” As soon as she whines a boy, who he presumes is Adam, walks out from behind a bush he was crouching behind. He doesn't very scared or very happy or very much of anything. He's expressionless as he walks up to the girl and stands by her side.

“This is one of my friends--”

“Adam.” Crowley figures.

She narrows her eyes to mere slits and lets out a powerful huff, “Don't interrupt me...or else.”

Nodding slowly he silently vows to himself not to ever figure out what that ‘or else’ might entail.

“Like I said, this is Adam. He saw you at church last week and ever since then we’ve taken an interest to you. I’m Pepper by the way. The others have probably run off but they're names are Brian and Wensleydale.”

“Okay so what do you want from me?”

“We want to know why you attended church when you clearly are a witch.”

Adam steps in after that saying, “Men can't be witches. Men are warlocks.”

“No, Warlock is the name of that snooty kid in the next town over. Men who have magic are called witches and that’s that.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “no they can't be.”

“I bet you a nickel they can.”

“I bet you a dime they can't.”

Clearing his throat Crowley asks impatiently, “Is this still about me?”

The two kids agree on something and nod. “Duh, It's about you.”

“We can't do anything today down by the creek if the others aren't here,” Adam says and Pepper agrees solemnly, “But we can ask you the question again: why were you at church?”

“To get the holy word of God,” he replies with snark oozing from his sentence.

Adam tells him matter-of-factly, “God doesn't like liars.”

“I don’t like the Almighty so I guess we’re even, eh?”

Pepper points the large stick at Crowley and Adam is forced to spot her as the stick is rather large and her wrist are rather small. “We’ll be back to question you further,” she informs him, “But it's snack-time now and Adam’s mom said she was making cookies so we best be off.”

The two then run off and Crowley shuts the door. This town is completely perplexing to say the least. He tells his mothers what happened earlier during Family Dinner and he's greeted with laughter.

“So these children found where we live,” Mama recounts, “and then harassed you on our porch? Is that right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

The women cackle wildly. “Oh that is beyond hilarious. Do you think they’ll come back?”

“Maybe, I don't know too much about kids really.”

“Well,” his birth mother says, “glad you had such fun staying at home today. While me and Mama were out today we learned something very interesting.”

“Like what?”

“Like that you’ve made a friend,” she squeals excitedly.

His face drops. Oh no, here it comes. “I already have a friend. You know, Beelze?”

“No, no, no,” Mama shakes her head and swats at him playfully, “I mean a boy friend.”

He lets out a noise of frustration internally before getting clarification. “Do you mean boyfriend or boy, space, friend?”

Both mothers pretend they didn't hear him and Mama continues her spiel. “Oh, Mr. Sanctus is such a lovely young man we met him at--”

“Wait, you met him?”

“Yes, yes, keep up! Anyway he was such a nice boy, he was so naïve too, wasn't he dear?”

“Yeah,” she sighs fondly. “He asked us which one of us took the man's role in the relationship.”

“Oh my Go-- I am so sorry.”

No,” his mom shakes her head and doubled over laughing. She leans on Mama for support and continues, “we asked him to explain and he starts describing a butch. Didn’t have the heart to correct him.” The women are having full-on chaotic convolutions at this point.

Groaning into his hands he mutters a few curses. “Angel is sheltered,” is the only excuse he can come up with.

Mama's ears perk up. “Angel? Is this actually a boyfriend?”

“No.”

She sniffs unbelievingly but drops the topic for another day. “So yes we met him and he seemed so pleasant to be around. I would love to have him over for dinner sometime.”

“Sure. I think his parents would have a fit though if they found out who I was being raised by.”

His mom winks, “Well I guess they’ll be in for a real treat when they learn that poor boy hasn’t got a lick-of-straight in him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you seen the way he dresses?” Mama dramatically throws up her hands. “It’s camp if I’ve ever seen it!”

“Yes, yes, real over the top Discrete Gentleman’s club vibes radiate of the kid. And that tartan? In this day in age? He’s either gay and fashionable or straight and a disaster Anthony.”

He finds himself not wanting to continue this conversation anymore then he has to and he finishes eating then excuses himself from the table a short while later.

Hours pass and eventually, when he deems it safe, he calls Beelzebub on the landline. He’s been dying to get a cellphone of his own but the things are so expensive and the only way he could get one is through a robbery. Unfortunately for him he’s not quite that sneaky and knows bail money is way more than a phone will ever be.

The phone doesn’t even finish ringing once when she picks up. “Boy troublezzz?” She asks. Crowley knows that there’s a simper on her face despite not being able to see her. The last few calls he’s made to her...were anarchic, to say the least. The matter was Azirphale but the conversation kept swaying from how much he hated the other to how much he wanted the both of them to kiss under the moonlight.

He snaps back, “No. I just wanted to call. Seemed appropriate. We do this every night why break tradition?”

“I wazz only kidding.” It should be noted that Beelzebub has an odd sort of lisp. When she says ‘s’ it comes out ‘z.’ She doesn’t bother to fix it anymore. When she was younger Crowley had a similar impairment and they met years ago, briefly, at a group speech therapy lesson. Her family, poor, busy with 6 other children, and uninsured, decided to discontinue therapy after a while and so she never did correct her words. 

“He apologized to me.”

She snorts, “Really?”

“Mhm, he did. But I’m tired of talking about me, let’s talk about you,” Crowley decides.

“How graciouzz for you to offer me thizz opportunity.”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes and hopes she can imagine him doing the action, “I could take it back anytime.”

“Well don’t becauze I met a boy--”

Crowley cuts her off there. Another thing to note is while Crowley is out and able to go stealth as a male and not a trans male Beelzebub doesn’t have that freedom when it comes to her gender. She presents somewhat androgynous to the best of her abilities as femininty isn’t something she can easily preform without questions, comments, or fake concerns flooding her ears. Enough to confuse people far away but once prying eyes took a close-up look at her they claimed to see past her cover.

Prying eyeballs shouldn’t have mouths.

“Bee I don’t know about this…”

“You didn’t even let me finish! He izz bi,” She attempts to reassure him. It obviously doesn’t work and it’s evident in what he says next.

“I don’t trust that. Did he tell you he was bi before--”

One more thing to note about Beelzebub-- Yes, that’s three notes all on her-- is that she has a very domineering, in-charge attitude. She tends to push aware her urges of control for people she tolerates like Crowley but it’s still there.

“You don’t have to trust him, I didn’t ask you to truzzt him. Don’t undermine my authority over my own dezztiny, and don’t you try and imply I’ve made poor choices before. I’m never wrong.” This is true. She’s never been wrong about anything ever. Why that is I don’t know, call it a gift if you will.

“Alright,” he relents, “Okay tell me more about this guy.”

Her mouth lets out a soft sigh, “Oh I met him just today. Drove into town just today, said he was visiting family but it was a surprise so I couldn’t tell anyone. I don’t know who he’z zuprising but I hope they're glad to zee him. I think he was a zudent at NYU, he wore a zweatshirt from there. He was just zitting on a bench in the park and so I sat next to him.”

“Most people might call that creepy.”

“I call it cute. Anywayzz we chatted a bit and he gave me bizexual energy zo--”

Crowley blinks at the stupidity of that sentence. “Bisexual energy? What does that even mean Bee?”

“He wore a scarf but was also looking at a woman who jogged by us with eyes of luzt.”

“He could have just been a cold straight guy,” he counters.

“It’s 88 °F out. He couldn’t be cold.”

“Fair.”

The chit-chat drifts away from the mystery man and onto more mundane teenager topics. Beelzebub complains of the senior year course load, Crowley complains about the teachers who get pissy with him about wearing his glasses indoors. They complain, it’s what teenagers were meant to do.

Inevitably one of them yawns first and that’s their signal to put down the phone and go to bed but before Crowley goes to sleep her writes an entry into his notebook.

_ ‘Watch out for Beelzebub Prince because even though she’s a little shit you care about her. And stop falling more in love with Aziraphale Sanctus. It’s pathetic man. Get a grip.’ _

Next, like a ritual he’s performed a thousand times, he rips out the page and sets it ablaze not even bothering to keep his bed covers away from the open flame. They don’t catch on fire which is a plus though so no harm no foul right?

Only once he’s seen the paper crinkle and dies he can he fall asleep. Sleep doesn’t come easy to him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me if mistakes have been made
> 
> tell me if 'z' were missed!


	5. Youth Group

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gabe is a lil bitch that's all send tweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: dehumanization with "it" 
> 
> also I w0nder what could have gabe so stressed????????????????? (I say like I haven't already written what it is

Aziraphale as per usual gets ready for church as it’s Sunday, the Lord's day, but stops halfway through his morning routine when he sees something-- or maybe someone out of the corner of his eye in the unused room down the hall. Inside the unoccupied room is a body. The body of Gabriel to be exact and he’s fiddling with thumbs as he presses his forehead to the side of his wall. His eyes are closed tight, he looks like a man who has been under immense pressure.

Based on what he’s seeing Aziraphale slinks back in an attempt not to be noticed but falls back because whenever he had a plan, God seems to screw with it royally. Gabriel snaps to attention at the noise, eyes suddenly vast, and sees his brother on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“W-what are you doing?” He asks back. “Here I mean.”

“This is my house idiot.”

“But you’re supposed to be in New York. Why are you here?”

“I promised mother I would be back for monthly Youth Group meets,” he says. “Do you not remember?”

“No, I clearly don’t.” Honestly, Aziraphale had completely forgotten that this Sunday was youth group. 

“Well, it seems you weren’t the only one…” He doesn’t elaborate but one can only assume that that means Mr. Sanctus hadn’t recalled either. Their father was growing more distant by the day, and it concerned them all. After all, Gabriel was the favorite, if he wasn’t remembered half the time then the others stood no chance.

“Does that mean you’ll help me set up today?”

He scoffs, “You just want to skimp out on work.”

“No, I--”

“--But yes, I’ll help you set up this morning.”

The rest of the foreday goes without any hitches. Aziraphale does not ask what has his brother so stressed and Gabriel does not offer to share. Bottling up emotions is not a healthy way to deal with them.

Things start to saunter vaguely downwards toward ‘bad’ when Crowley shows up to the service. He’s early and much more dressed for church but when Gabriel sees him he nearly says the Lord's name in vain.

“Oh, my G-- gosh.”

“What,” Aziraphale asks.

The older brother points Crowley. “Who is that? I didn't know the Blackwood’s had a boy.”

Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley had a sister. He’d ask about that later. “His last name is Crowley now. He also goes by it too, strangely enough. I haven't asked why though.”

“But is he a Blackwood?”

“Uh… yes,” Aziraphale reveals after thinking things through. It's not good to lie, not only is it a sin but this lie would only collapse on him in the future. Surely his brother would find out the truth some other way-- what with this being a tiny town-- so it might as well come from him.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and exhales. “How long?”

“What?”

“You don't seem too shocked at his appearance so I am asking how long has he been in the congregation.”

“He just showed up last week.” That wasn't a lie. But he had a feeling his brother wanted more information than that.

“Hm,” is all that is said before an uncomfortable silence falls over them.

The sermon for today seems incredibly hostile. It’s about friendship, and at one point Mr. Sanctus doesn’t even try and be subtle. He looks directly at Aziraphale and then to Crowley and reads verse 1 Corinthians 15:33.

After the Word is Youth Group which is held in the back in a room somewhat similar to a classroom. It has a chalkboard, desks, and projector, everything you would expect. And one other thing...it has a question box.

The question box is empty today but at any given time any kid who feels the need can leave a question-- whether it is religious or not-- and get a response. It’s something Aziraphale thought about during his Freshman year. Like all other things he’s thought of, he’s very proud of it.

The number of youths in a small town is low and always dwindling but here’s what you need to know right now: Crowley is closest to the door, Aziraphale is sitting next to him and Gabriel is trying excessively hard not to look like he was sparing many glances at Crowley.  His attempts are in vain.

Nothing of any importance comes from the group it’s all rather boring really. But when Crowley gets up from his seat to bolt out the door he’s stopped by Gabriel calling his name. Crowley hasn’t meet Aziphale’s oldest brother before today. He’d have not even known his name if he wasn’t half-listening to the group introductions.

Those two facts swirl together in Crowley’s gut as he stops half-way already out of the room. Aziraphale is acutely aware that whatever is going to happen isn’t something he’ll be allowed to stay for. This doesn’t stop him from lingering.

Everyone has gone now and it’s just the three of them. Gabriel sends a sharp look his younger brother’s way and gradually Aziraphale vacates the scene, closing the door fully on his way out.

Gabriel stands tall with his eyes trained on the other. “What’s your name?”

“Crowley. You heard it earlier today.”

“No,” He says, “what is your full name?”

“What’s it to you,” Crowley raises a brow.

A low growl stirs from his throat. “Please don’t test me. It’s a simple question.”

“Anthony J. Crowley.”

“How long have you been a Christian Anthony.”

“Don’t use my first name.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes which are narrowed dangerously. “I’ll do as I please.”

“Fine. ‘m not a Christian anyway.”

“No? Why are you in my family’s church then? You haven’t come to start trouble, have you? That won’t be tolerated, this is a sanctuary and I won't have you defile it.”

Crowley snorts, “Woah, the whole family has a stick up their ass--”

“--Language.”

“Whatever. I’m not here to deflower your precious little church.”

“I said defile, not deflower you repugnant little demon.”

“Demon?” He quirks his lips upwards. “How kind of you to grace me with a nickname. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”

“Do not,” the older bellows, “play games with me. I don’t know why you’ve come here and I don’t care. No Blackwood should be allowed in this holy place, for all your family does is cover whatever you touch in filth. I don’t know what you want from my family’s livelihood or Aziraphale but I think it would be in all of our best interest if you didn’t come back.”

“Sure, sure,” Crowley shrugs and pretends to think about what he just said. After a moment he starts again, “I could do what you told me or I could continue to piss you off and I think I like doing that more.” A shit-eating grin has appeared on his face. “And I’m a Crowley now, not a fucking Blackwood so don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

Having said all he has to say Gabriel simply stares at the red-head with disdain. His face is clenched tight, anger spilling out of his features. “Get out,” he says lowly. 

For once Crowley does as he’s told.

~~~

Aziraphale hadn’t had the chance to see Crowley leave the church building as he’d been preoccupied answering a lovely ladies question about the church’s next bake sale but he knew when he eventually saw his brother that whatever words had been exchanged had not been pleasant.

Gabriel goes for a run the minute he gets home and doesn’t return until near dinner which is concerning on its own but what truly puts Aziraphale on edge is the fact that when he does return he doesn’t look any calmer. If anything he’s more enraged but instead of his emotions laying on his face they’ve seeped down into the very core of his being.

Once he returns he pulls Mr. Sanctus aside in the study and then they call Aziraphale in. The two sit on opposite sides of each other with an empty chair in the middle of them, presumably for Aziraphale, creating a triangle.

Their father clears his throat and then speaks. “Gabriel has brought it to my attention that the Blackwood child threatened him after Youth Group.”

Horseshit. Aziraphale knows that that has to be a lie. Not because he doesn’t believe Crowley wouldn’t do something like that but because he doesn’t believe Crowley wouldn’t, after saying something menacing, deck Gabriel right in his stupid mouth.

“As you know,” he continues, “That will not stand. I’m asking you Aziraphale to tell it not to come back.”

“It?”

Gabriel responds, “Father means Anthony.”

“He goes by Crowley.”

Mr. Sanctus doesn’t say anything.

All of them sit quietly for a while. While his brother and father seem placated now Aziraphale finds himself growing quite the opposite. “Okay,” he says after much too long. “I’ll inform him he’s no longer welcome.”

“Thank you.” And then he’s dismissed.

Gabriel drives back to NYU later that night after dinner. Aziraphale secretly hopes he never comes back but knows he’ll be back next month, just like he said. Maybe by then whatever is stressing Gabriel will be over and he’ll be slightly less of a douche. Doubtful though.

~~~

“My dad hates you,” Aziraphale tells Crowley.

The two are outside after class. It was a half-day, short classes and all that so it’s still sunny and bright out. The perfect day. It’s Wednesday now, over 48 hours have passed since his conversation-- if you want to call it that-- with his father. 

“I know,” the other responds unfazed as he riffles through the wicker basket to the side of him. They are sitting on a grassy hill, far away from anyone else in the middle of a field. Aziraphale wanted a picnic and Crowley couldn’t say no.

“You can’t come back to my church.”

This causes Crowley to look up. “Oh? Bastard finally put his foot down?”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“Bastard,” he repeats then pulls out what he was looking for. A pack of cigarettes that Aziraphale definitely didn’t put in the basket.

“Where did that--?”

He lights the cig with a grimace as it takes a good three tries to light properly. “A guy had gotta have his secretes angel.”

He watches the red-head take a few hits. “You shouldn’t smoke those my dear.”

“Angel, you’re a weed man? Wouldn’t peg you the type.”

“Weed? Oh heavens no, my goodness you smoke Cannabis?” He gasps scandalized.

Letting himself lay down on the picnic blanket Crowley grunts entertained. “I smoke lots of things. Why? Do you want something sometime?”

“Are you joking with me?”

“Maybe.”

The blond bits his lip nervously. “I don’t do drugs,” he says meekly.

“Obviously.”

“You’re not going to make me do any...are you?”

“Do I strike you like the sharing type? If you don’t want my stash that’s more than fine.”

Aziraphale thinks that makes plenty of sense. “But really dear, you can’t come back to the church. It’s not a safe place for you.”

“Understood. Roger that.”

“I’m serious.”

Crowley snubs the cigarette. “As am I angel.”

“I have a question for you,” he says.

“Shoot.”

“Where is your sister?”

Crowley bolts up from the blanket, his eyebrows shot up high. He whips his head over and asks, “What?”

“Y-your sister? Gabriel was surprised, he didn’t know that your family had a male child. So I assume you have a sister...right?”

“Sister, sister, yes, yes I have one of those.” He rambles mindlessly trying to find the right words. “She’s dead.” Those are not the right words.

“I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale cries with his eyes wide with surprise. “I shouldn’t have asked I’m--”

“No, no she’s just uh...” He suddenly wishes he hadn't put out that cigarette out now. “She’s dead to me. We don’t talk about her.” He feels something in his gut churn when he finishes his lie but he can't bring himself to honesty. Not yet.

“Ah, well then I’m still sorry.”

“My whole family tree is fucked up, don’t worry about it.”

“No more fucked up than mine dear boy.”

“Did you just curse…?”

A small smile flickers across Aziraphale’s face. “I’m allowed to curse you know. You don’t own the word fuck.”

The laughter that erupts from the pair is certainly ugly but so beautiful. They giggle together for what might as well be forever and in their fits, Aziraphale sees just how lovely Crowley looks when he’s happy. He wants Crowley to always be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment, keysmash, whatever u know the drill cool cats ;)  
> tell me if I have errors  
> tumblr: @storiesandthyme


	6. Bentley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bentley appears and shes a good girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kidos and comments im speachless oml!!!!
> 
> Also i love using food to create intimacy thats all

It’s the start of October now and golden-brown leaves fall from the trees of the small town of Tadfield. Aziraphale stands outside his house helping rack leaves very diligently. Crowley stands outside the fence, hands in his pockets, getting ready to shout out to him.

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth wide. “Angel! Hey! Let’s go,” he practically screams for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Aziraphale drops his rake in a panic and stifles a shriek. Once he’s collected himself he huffs, “Crowley! You can’t just show up at my house my dear! What has gotten into you?”

“Come on your dad’s not home right? I know he’s out of town for some Christian conference.”

“How do you know that?”

He grins mischievously and hops over the fence. “Does it matter? Come on, I’ve got to show you something.”

“Something good I hope?”

“Come with and you’ll find out.”

Of course, Aziraphale’s curiosity gets the best of him so he follows Crowley down the street and five blocks to see a black car that looks old. Older than anything he’s ever seen in real life at least.

“This is my baby,” Crowley says softly with admiration in his voice. “I call her Bently. Sorry, I had to park so far away, I just didn’t want you to get in trouble or anything.”

“I understand, thank you, my dear. What model is she?” He’s very intrigued as the car is of the likes he’s never seen. “She doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen lately.”

“Oh yeah,” he scoffs, “you won’t find a beauty like her on the market today. She’s a 1926 black Bentley, custom made too.” Proudly he rubs her hard-top and coos. “Just bought her from a car junkie who had her at a great mark-down due to her model not being too popular by the elitist of the car world. Been saving up for her since I understood the concept of money and I figured I’d take you for a spin in her.”

“I wouldn’t guess you’re an automobile person.”

“Oh, ‘m not this model just makes me think of better times, that’s all.”

He nods like he understands but he doesn’t. “If I get in with you where will you take me?”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go angel.” He opens the passenger door invitingly. “Just say the word.”

Aziraphale can’t bring himself to refuse so he slides into the car and shyly and lets Crowley shut the door behind him. When the red-head gets into the car he starts it with more care than Aziphale has ever seen from him doing anything ever.

They drive aimlessly for a while and Crowley asks again where he should go. “I don’t know,” Aziraphale replies honestly. “You go too fast for me…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He quizzically shoots the other a look. “It means you’re going ninety in the middle of the suburbs and I’m pretending like I’m okay as we nearly crash into everything going slower than you. Which is everything of course, dear.”

“Oh, I didn’t know I had a driving master in the car,” he rolls his eyes all in good fun.

“You don’t, just ask Anathema and she can attest to my less than spectacular driving abilities.”

Crowley opens his mouth but then closes it promptly. He shifts his face to the side in obvious hard thought. “Is that the glasses girl you’re always with,” he finally says after he notices he’s been quiet for much too long and Aziraphale is looking at him expectantly.

“Who dear?”

“Anathema. That your girlfriend or something?” It’s a simple question but it takes all of Crowley’s courage to pass his lips.

“My girl--” The other boy abruptly himself off with a loud chuckle. “Oh heavens no! She and I couldn’t be further from romantic interests. Why on God’s green earth would you think that?”

Choking on his words Crowley feels hot embarrassment creep up his neck. “Well I-- that’s a-- nkg…” he sputters as the car, already going devilishly fast, starts to swerve slightly.

“Watch out for the road!”

“I’m trying,” he hisses back trying to cool himself off.

Aziraphale sighs heavily as they just nearly miss a child who had run onto the street. “Really though, why would you think that? You sound like my father.”

Crowley’s ears perk up. What did that mean? Did that mean he wasn’t actually interested in girls as a whole or did that mean he wasn’t interested in Anathema personally? “My bad, thought she’d be your type, that’s all.”

“Well she isn’t.”

“What is your type?” he asks gently and turns to face the blond.

“I...I don’t know yet,” Aziraphale truthfully replies and looks down into his lap almost ashamed.

Crowley rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and speaks. “If you fancy guys that’s all right you know--”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” he backtracks waving his hands wildly. “I don’t like guys. I don’t like men. I like girls.” he says it with such conviction he almost manages to convince himself.

People often liked to joke that red-head’s didn’t have souls but Crowley knew he had one because it sunk to the bottom of his body along with his heart when he heard that. “Yeah, you seem like the type to like girls. Not nearly effeminate enough,” he says as easily as he can. He’s clutching the steering wheel with both hands now, trying to concentrate on anything but this conversation.

As delicate and as soft as a prayer Aziraphale asks, “You are straight, aren’t you?”

Crowley considers lying and saying ‘yes.’ He considers it but then almost immediately throws that idea away. He’s already lied or avoided enough of who he is and his past with Aziraphale and he can’t stomach much more of it.

“Fuck no.”

“Oh.” An emotion almost akin hope rises in Aziraphale. “Do you think it has to do with--”

The car stops dramatically as the brakes are slammed on. “No,” he growls, “I don’t think it has to do with my mother being a lesbian. I thought we were past that Azira.”

He blinks and shifts uncomfortably.“I like angel better.”

“What?”

“I like when you call me angel better,” he repeats. “And I’m sorry for hurting you...again. I just don’t know much about all of this. It’s all new to me…”

“This?”

“You know,” he vaguely motions to the world around them. “Homosexual attraction.”

Crowley lets go of a singular, somewhat cold and callous laugh. “You wanna come home for dinner with me? I guarantee you won’t be new to homosexual attraction by the time my mothers are done doting over each other.”

He doesn’t actually wait for a response before starting the Bentley again and ripping down the road.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home, angel” The way the pet name is said sounds more mockingly this time. Aziraphale cringes.

“But my mother will--”

“You’ll be able to think of a lie, won’t you? I believe in you.”

“Crowley,” he begins, “As I said, I’m sorry that I upset you but--”

“I’m not upset, promise.” False. He’s a little upset. “I just need to show you something.” He glances around the car and then continues with, “Something else I mean.”

Aziraphale protests the entire time but when he pulls up into the driveway his insistence dies on his tongue. He sees a raven-haired woman knelt over in the front garden look up at their appearance with the warmest, most motherly smile he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing. It’s mama, he realized as he’s met her before at a farmers market.

“That’s right, you’ve met my moms before, haven’t you?” Crowley speaks as he exits the car.

“Yes, I have met them. I’m afraid I might have offended them last time with my questions though.”

“No you just made yourself look like a fool,” he cracks a mean smirk. “Now get out and say hi.”

He does just that and is met with another flash of the hospitable smile. “Hello there.”

Mama calls, “Hey kid. Mom is indoors, she’ll be pleased to see you again. You made quite the impression on us last time.” 

“Oh, right I profusely apologize if I offended you.”

“You didn't. You just sounded a bit like an idiot.” And now Aziraphale knew where Crowley got his attitude from.

The four of them went in and made pleasant conversation for a good hour before dinner was served. It was like nothing Azirphale had seen before. It was clearly not American food, not European either judging by the uses of spices and he thought aloud what it could be. The meal consisted of no meat, no cheese, no animal product at all it seemed.

“Okay,” Mom says placing food on everyone’s plate, “so this is sugar snap peas and carrot soba noodles as well as spicy Thai peanut sauce over roasted sweet potatoes and rice. It’s vegan by the way if you were wondering,” she tells the guest.

“Vegan?”

Crowley translates for him. “Nothing with animals is in the dishes.”

“Oh, how exquisite. I’ve never heard of such a diet before, my dear.”

The mothers exchange a glance. Crowley wisely wills himself not to blush at the name.

“Yeah well, my moms like to pretend that we’re vegan but we all lack the willpower to actually be really vegan so playing pretend will have to do.”

“Shh, more like you don't have the willpower. Don't lump me with you.” Mom swats at his head.

“Boo, don't be mean. Mama, back me up here!”

“Anthony is right hun, we all are a little weak when it comes to animal by-products.”

“Thank you.”

“Lies. Now Azirphale try some and tell us what you think.”

Aziraphale, trained well by his mother in manners, takes a small bite of his food on command, but not without hesitation as he fears he won't that he won't like it. As he chews his face practically lights up. “Oh! This is heavenly,” he says after swallowing.

Mama nods approvingly. “Good, good a man of great taste I see.”

Crowley says, “You don’t have to say that to please them you know. I’m sure we could order you a pizza.”

“No,” he shakes his head sincerely. “I really do like this. It’s so...new. You all are always introducing me to such new and exciting things,” he adds wistfully.

  


“Glad you like it then.”

Mom says, before taking several bites of her own food, “ We are new and exciting, huh?”

“Yes well, I mean that of course in a good way. Your family is clearly not the uh--”

“Traditional type?”

Aziraphale avoids eye-contact with them and nods quickly. “Yes. That.”

“Well I for one,” Crowley starts, “don’t think my family life is too terribly exciting. I mean, I’ve got a few other nosey adults interested in my life but that’s hardly anything appealing.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“And so I eat Vegan occasionally. It’s not all that either, it’s just cooking but harder.”

Mama steps in with, “I think it’s rather cool.”

He shoots back with, “But you’re a mother-- my mother. You don’t get to say what’s cool.”

Smirking his other mom sticks out her hand for a high five from her son and when he lands it she says, “Burn!”

Dramatically mama sighs, “Oh even my own wife? The betrayal, the heartbreak, I am hurt.”

Aziraphale covers his mouth clearly offended oh her behalf. “What on--”

“Hey, angel, it’s fine she’ll get me back later.”

“Angel!” She yells, slamming her fork down onto the plate. “There’s that nickname again.”

“And this would be later,” he mumbles.

“What’s the deal with the Angel nickname?” Mama asks.

Not sensing a trap Aziraphale states, “He thought I looked like an angel and thus I was christened-- so to speak-- angel.”

Mom looks over at her partner and the two share another glance. This one is a knowing one, however. “Hm, well angel was never my go to pet name but whatever you floats your boat.”

“Mother,” Crowley cries as Azirphale chokes on a forkful of carrots.

“Yes?”

“Must you try to embarrass me in front of my friend?”

“Try?” Mama snorts. “Honey, we are succeeding. And what else are moms for if not to humiliate you? It’s our motherly duty.”

“You two are the worst. He’s my friend, not my boyfriend, right Aziraphale?”

All the other boy can do is shake his head in agreement as he’s still coughing from his unexpected asphyxiation.

“Of course, we simply kid, nothing serious.”

“Uh huh, sure,” he rolls his eyes. By now you might think he’d be used to his mother’s antics but every now and again they surprise him with just how bold they could be. Damn those meddling mothers.

The group keeps eating for a while longer before the conversation picks up again. This time it’s towards the end of the meal though.

“Aziraphale,” Mama carefully starts. “Do you mean to tell me that Mom and I are the first queer couple you’ve met? Or even people?”

“I suppose so,” he shrugs and stares at his nearly empty plate. “Isn’t that a derogatory term though?”

Crowley tells him, “Sometimes. Only sometimes though. If you called me or my mother’s queer I’d beat you up. But when we say it, it’s different somehow…”

“It’s reclaimed,” Mom supplies. “And I didn’t realize you were out to Aziraphale, Anthony.”

His eyes grow wide at his slip-up. He was only half-out, not fully but his moms didn’t know that. “Yeah, something like that. But back to the point,” he hurries along. “It’s different when we say it. And trust me angel, we aren’t the first ones you’ve met.”

“But no one else I know is gay other than you all.”

Mom says while shaking her head with humor, “No, we are all over darling. No one has come out to you other than us though, that’s the difference.” She then gets up and carries her plate to the sink to rinse it off.

Mama follows suit and concurs. “Yes, we are your family, friends, neighbors, co-workers. We are all over.”

“Mama,” Crowley interrupts her spiel knowing that he’s gotten the point now. “he’s not someone you should preach to. He knows all that, after all, he’s here with us eating dinner.”

“Please, I know he’s not the one I should preach to, I’m just reminding him that we as a community are normal, everyday people. It sometimes is hard to remember, even for the best of us.” That maternal grin is back on her face and she motions to Aziraphale. “Are you done with that plate? If so can you bring it over so I can put it in the dishwasher?”

“Of course. Do you want me to help wash the dishes too?”

“No, no, you're a guest.”

“But I just popped in uninvited I’d feel awfully bad if I didn’t help out in some way.”

“Just being here is helping us. It’s not often we get to tease Anthony in front of others.”

Aziraphale lets out a little giggle. “Oh, well then…”

Crowley scowls at his parents. “You two ‘ought to leave me alone. I won’t take care of you in your old age if you keep this up.”

“If you take care of us the way you take care of your plants then I’ll be glad for that.” Mama, without any real bite in her tone, says back.

“Plants?” Aziraphale looks over at his friends with intrigue.

“You didn’t know Anthony is something of a botanist?”

“No, I didn’t”

“Oh you should go to his room, he practically has a whole forest up there.”

“Can we?” He asks with doe eyes.

Crowley literally can not say anything but “yes” to someone with such a hopeful face like that. Aziraphale nearly skips down to Crowley’s room and marvels as the door opens revealing a room chock full glowing green ferns and colorful flowers of great variety. 

“This is incredible Crowley,” he whispers, his tone hushed with amazement. “They are all so perfect! Gorgeous even. ”

“Hey, keep it down they might get a big head if you compliment them.”

“What?”

“Compliments aren’t good for them. They’ll think they’re actually perfect but there is always room for improvement.”

“Oh,” he says, “that’s a little harsh don’t you think?”

“Well, it works doesn't it?”

“I suppose it does.”

Sometime later, after Aziraphale is done gushing over Crowley’s indoor garden and Mom and Mama have finished all chatter with the boys, the two teens seat themselves back in Bentley.

“Wait! What did you want to show me?”

“What angel?”

Aziraphale says, “You told me you wanted to show me something. What was it? Was it your plants?”

“No,” he shakes his head and starts the car. “I wanted to show you us.”

“Us?”

He hums. “Yeah, me, Mama, and Mom. I wanted to show you how we weren't anything new. Like Mama said, we are just people. We don’t differ in any way from your family.”

“I think you do actually.”

“How so?”

“I--” Aziraphale cuts himself off as he gathers the courage to say what he wants to say. “I think your family loves one another, I can’t say that for mine.”

“What’s your mom like?” Crowley questions after a second of silence.

“Mean. She’s very subtle mean though, nothing about her is overt. She gives off the air of reservation and humbleness but she’s anything but.”

“She sounds like a bitch.”

“Dear, you really mustn’t insult my family like that. I love them and I love you but I’ll always choose them over you.”

Crowley turns his head so fast to look at his friend that he feels a muscle in him groan in agony but he doesn’t care. “You love me?”

His mouth gapes open and he licks his lips as now his whole mouth feels dry before responding. “I do. Love you I mean. But in a platonic sense, of course, nothing more, I promise.”

“I know that. You like girls,” Crowley says almost like he’s reminding himself.

“I like girls. Do you like me?”

Making a face Crowley says, “Ew no.” He’s a liar. “You're my best friend Aziraphale, you know that right?”

“I’m your best friend?” He gasps with the hint of delight.

“So you can say you love me but I call you my best friend and all of a sudden you’re surprised?”

“Oh do shut up,” he flushes bright red knowing he’s being silly. “It’s just...no one has ever said that.”

Sending a sideways glance Crowley asks, “No one has ever been your best friend before? I’m your first?”

“Do you have to say it like that?”

“Like what angel?” The way he asks it shows he knows exactly what ‘like that’ means, however.

Aziraphale tilts his head so his eyes meet Crowley’s. “You’re a horrible influence.”

With a poorly done wink he shoots back, “You’re here by your own God-given free will angel.”

“Yes, I am. I choose you.”

“You choose me,” he repeats with the sort of fondness a friend shouldn’t have for another. “So should I drop you off five blocks from your house or farther?”

“You can drop me at my house,” Aziraphale says. “My mom won’t see you if you are quick about it.”

Snorting Crowley takes him up on the challenge and drives him all the way to the front of his house. Before Aziraphale gets out he thanks Crowley for the wonderful time and, in what he will later call a lapse in judgment, reaches for his face to rub his thumb over the other’s highly defined cheekbone.

The action serves no purpose other than an excuse for him to touch Crowley. He feels himself pull his hand away, shocked that he would act on impulse like that, when Crowley takes his hand and holds it still. They stare into each others eyes-- or more like Crowley stares into the boy’s eyes and Aziraphale stares at Crowley’s shades. Nonetheless, the moment feels intimate. Weird but intimate.

They stay like that for an unknown amount of time. Maybe only a few seconds, maybe five minutes, but the occasion ends when Crowley says, “This isn’t being quick about it angel.”

As if he was under a spell that had just been broken Aziraphale draws his hand back like he’s been burned. “Right, sorry my de-- sorry Crowley I must be going now. I really did enjoy my time with you but now it’s time to say goodbye.” He hops out of the car with a sense of urgency and swiftly makes his way up to his front door.

Sitting in his brand-new vintage car Crowley feels his heart both rampantly beat out of his chest and stop all at once. He drove back to his house in silence, unsure what to make of what just happened. He can’t even try and comprehend what he just experienced so he doesn’t try. When he gets back to his driveway he just sits there for a period of time reflecting on his scattered emotions.

He thinks he’s feeling happy, after all Aziraphale admitted that he was special in his life. On the other hand he’s also feeling sad because Aziraphale doesn’t really love him in the way he wants. He lets out a hefty sigh and sinks into Bentley.

“I’m in deep shit.” he confesses to no one but himself. And damn is he right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smash that kudos button if u want and tell me what you think lovely ppl


	7. Witchcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Crowley knows that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't dating he and "glasses girl" are hanging out trying to catch evil fae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter. filler...kinda

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Mrs. Young says when Aziraphale walks through the Young family's front door. The foyer is a mess, toys are spread all about and so he’s forced to step carefully around the clutter. It’s a task easier said than done.

“Of course,” he replies with a polite smile. “I’m always here if you need me.”

Mrs. Young and her husband say goodbye to their child, Adam, and pile into their car. It's date night for them, apparently, they're going to see some new play at the local theater, and they needed a babysitter. Anathema was, unfortunately, unable to cover but Aziraphale was always happy to help the couple out as he and Adam had a pretty good understanding of each despite their clear differences.

Adam was a boisterous youth. He was always outside, running, jumping, playing in the mud. The usual kind of kid stuff. Aziraphale obviously was the polar opposite of such an attitude when he was small and especially now as a teenager.

Before the spouses drive off though they yell in unison “Be good for Mr. Sanctus!” And then they are gone leaving the teen and the boy alone for the remainder of the night.

“Hello little Young," He greets, "how are you tonight?”

Adam, who is sitting in the living room on the couch, says "hi" back and tells him that he’s having a great time watching cartoons.

“Are you watching that dreadful show,” he asks, knowing the answer full well. Animaniacs, on all accounts, is the kids favorite. The zany siblings are forever doing wacky things that Adam simply can't take his eyes off of. Aziraphale thinks the Animaniacs are grossly inappropriate for children, he thought they cause kids to further misbehave.

He isn't totally wrong. But that's half the fun of the show. 

“Don't be like that!” Adam tells him. “It’s funny.”

He rolls his eyes, “Oh I’m sure it is. Your mom left money for pizza tonight, when would you like me to order it?”

“Whenever you get hungry. I’m not picky.”

Aziraphale looks at him with a raised brow. “Now, that’s a lie and you and I both know it. You are pickier than Brian.”

“Am not!” He pouts from the couch.

“Mhm,” Aziraphale hums noncommittally. “I’m sure you aren’t.”

The night passes without an incident. The pizza gets ordered and arrives around six pm. Adam devours the cheese pizza without equivocation then runs back to the television. At nine he’s told by Aziraphale to brush his teeth and head to bed. After some childish bargaining Adam manages to snag an extra forty-five minutes before he was sent upstairs to his room for good. The Youngs came home at ten that night, slightly inebriated but joyous, and pay Aziraphale his allotted due.

He walks home because it’s a clear night and because he knows his neighborhood is relatively safe. As he makes his way back he sees two bodies move between a patch of shrubbery ahead of him. He blinks and rubs his eyes thinking they are playing tricks on him. When he opens them again though he still can see the silhouette of a person in the darkness.

“Pardon me,” he meekly calls out, “but are you alright over there?”

One of the voices, feminine and familiar hisses, “Shit.”

“Do you need assistance? Should I call someone?”

“Wait, Aziraphale?”

Unnerved by the fact that this shadow knows his name he hesitantly replies. “Yes? Who are you?”

Suddenly a flashlight illuminates the person's face from underneath and it’s revealed to be Anathema. She’s got a collection of thick looking books underneath her other arm. “It’s me, idiot.”

“Wha--?”

“Oh, it’s Azira?” The other person-shaped outline says with surprise. It’s a male voice. It’s Crowley’s voice. He grabs the flashlight out of her hand and shines it on himself. He’s got a sharp grin on his face and even in the dark, he’s still wearing his sunglasses. 

“Hey there angel. How’s it going?”

“What are you two doing out here?” He frowns deeply and asks, “Nothing illegal I should hope.”

“Illegal? What do you take me for, a scoundrel?” Anathema sounds wounded.

“I am a scoundrel.”

“We know Crowley,” the others say.

Aziraphale twists his face in thought. “So what are you doing out in the middle of the night then?”

Crowley and Anathema share a look. Between them, they silently argue with their eyes whether or not the truth is a good thing to tell. Eventually, she breaks contact with Crowley and says, “Witchcraft.”

“Mrs. Device,” he speaks in a low, scandalized tone. “I thought you said you weren’t a witch!”

“I’m not,” she says with a whine in her voice. “I’m just...participating in witchcraft. There is a difference.”

“Not much of one,” Crowley shrugs.

“Hey, stop that. It’s different. I’m not a witch--

“--she’s an occultist.” Crowley finishes the sentence for her.

Ignoring the fact that she was interrupted she says, “Exactly.”

Aziraphale visibly disapproves of such actions. “And what are the specifics of this witchcraft?” 

Anathema, snatching the flashlight back says, “We are looking for the fae.”

“Fae?”

“Yeah,” Crowley nods. “Like fairies and stuff. We heard there are some in the forest near the large Lower Tadfield pond.”

“There is no such thing, my dear,” Aziraphale says with a shake of his head. He lets out a fond huff at Crowley’s rebuttal.

“Well, your no fun angel.”

“Can you two flirt on your time?” Anathema snidely remarks. “I’m still here, you know.”

“We don’t flirt,” Crowley scowls at her as Aziraphale sputters out a noise not quite close enough to any word. 

“Uhg, of course, you don’t.” She says flippantly. “Whatever you say. But can this conversation wrap up? We still need to make a summoning circle for the fae and if we don’t hurry, we won’t be able to catch them.

“Oh,” Crowley attentively nods his head, “You’re right. Sorry angel, we’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye then,” Aziraphale waves at the pair. “Do try and not summon any evil spirits, I don’t wish to have to lose you to a demon.”

“Ha! Angel, no demon would want me. I’m already corrupted, they’d want someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah, someone who--”

Anathema grunts. “Please. No flirting, let’s go lover boy.”

Crowley refutes the comment but sure enough, starts to walk off. Anathema turns off the flashlight, tells Aziraphale goodbye, and heads off into the same direction as Crowley. They are, once again, shadows under the cover of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: storiesandthyme  
> kudos, comments, etc. are apricated heavily!


	8. The Party(?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema said: PARTY TIME LOZERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta read so tell me of my mistakes  
> next update deals with Beelz and Gabe more as well as church

Early in the morning, Aziraphale walks down the front entrance of the school to his locker to grab some books when something out of the ordinary happens.

Anathema struts over to him and hands Aziraphale an invite to her Halloween Party. He almost doesn’t believe it's a legitimate invite. Maybe some sort of pity thing, he figures.

Sure, she and he are friends but he’s never been invited to an actual party before and he honestly didn’t think he ever would, at least not until college. But she shoves the paper right into his hands and then walks away to hand out more of them without giving him a moment to object. 

The leaflet reads: _**Anathema Device’s Halloween Party! All invited, all welcome! At least pretend to wear a costume and if you show up in a slutty witch costume you can’t enter my house! Cultural Appropriation isn’t cute!**_

_**Place - 123409 Rangewood Drive** _

_**Start Time - 8:30 pm** _

_**Get Out By - 3 am** _

_**Note: I have a pool and a finished basement! Bring a towel** _

Later at lunch, he finds Crowley, who is sitting outside on the edge of campus smoking a cigarette, and asks him about the party.

“Oh, Anathema’s thing?” He quirks a brow in thought. “Hm, no I’m not going.”

Aziraphale is unable to hide his disappointment. “Why not?”

Crowley’s tone changes fast as he tries to get the other to stop pouting. “Wait, angel if you go maybe I’ll go too, it’s just crowded bug me, you know? Too loud, too crowded, too pushy, too much.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to…” he says still sounded a tad sad.

“No! No, I’ll go if you're going,” Crowley says nodding and then takes a desperately quick hit of his cigarette.

He beams and softly says, “Oh really?”

“The things you make me do angel...”

They sit quietly for a moment before Aziraphale opens his mouth again. “When I was younger my father wouldn't let me celebrate Halloween. He claimed it was the devil's holiday and when you dressed up you were worshipping the devil.”

Crowley raises both brows and then shakes his head. “I think he might have his facts mixed up there. As a devil worshiper, I can say Halloween isn’t that big of a deal.”

Aziraphale gasps, “Crowley! Don’t joke like that! You know that's not funny!”

“I’m sorry angel, but getting you worked up is too much fun.”

“You, my dear, are a horrid fiend,” he pushes the other boy on the shoulder lightly.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He smiles widely and watches the smoke rise.

They laugh together for a moment. It seems like that’s their thing. They laugh together so much until their both in stitches over the smallest things.

“It was funny because when he finally let me and my siblings celebrate Halloween it was around middle school and you know how it is...everyone is too cool to dress up by then.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “and then high school rolls around and we’re all back to dressing up this time in half-assed costumes and instead of trick-or-treating we’re drinking as much booze as we can before blacking out.”

Aziraphale lets out a surprised noise. “Booze? You don't think Anathema would have a party with illicit activities, would she?”

“Anathema Device is the resident rich girl angel, of course, she’s going to have booze. She might even have the good shit too, if you know what I mean.” He winks but with both eyes and yet Aziraphale did not know what he meant.

“What?”

Shrugging Crowley says, “She just seems like the type of girl to know where to get some drugs harder than mary jane, you know?”

“She most certainly would not!”

“No? Well, how about we ask her and see what she's planning?”

I will not,” Aziraphale started while beginning to wring his hands nervously, “go to a party where people will be doing illegal activities.”

“What? Angel, come on you just told me I had to come!”

“Well that was before,” he exclaims and points into Crowley's chest. “Now that I know what goes on at parties I’m glad I’ve never been invited to one…”

With a look of disbelief, he stares. “You’ve never been to a party before--” His face breaks into realization. “Oh, you’ve never been to a party before! That's why you're acting like this.”

“Oh, why don't you scream it a little louder dear? I don't think everyone heard you.”

Stomping his cigarette on the ground he apologizes. “Sorry, sorry I didn't mean it like that. It's just, now that I know, you have to come to her party. It's gonna be great!”

“Oh I’m sure,” Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

After lunch it seems like everyone has heard of Anathema’s party. Aziraphale often forgets that Anathema is a member of the richest family this side of the state has ever seen but no one else has. All around him people gossip about how amazing the party will be, how nice her house is, how great her pool is, how much beer-- because apparently, all teenagers think about is getting drunk-- there will be.

It’s suffocating.

By the end of the day Aziraphale has had enough of it all. Even his siblings have heard of the party and they have strong opinions about it. 

On the way home Uriel, with a judgmental side-eye says, “I didn’t know you were dating a party girl.”

“I’m not dating her,” Aziraphale tugs nervously at his backpack strings. “And she’s not a party girl! She’s just a young lady having a party.”

“A party that will be held at her massive house with alcohol and other depressant drugs.”

“You don’t know that there will be drugs, you’re just listening to gossip.

Also with them is Zerachiel who rolls her eyes. “Well okay then. Let’s at least say she’s not a good girl. Or at least she’s not the girl we thought she was.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Aziraphale huffs and speeds up his walking in an effort to cease the conversation. 

Uriel doesn’t relent. “We really aren’t. Are you going to her party?”

“You know father wouldn’t allow such a thing.”

“That’s not what he asked,” Zerachiel tells him. “He asked if you were going.”

Aziraphale walks faster. “I can’t go, of course.”

Finally, the topic is dropped. But not before Uriel scolds him one last time. "Honestly brother, you shouldn't hang out with girls like her. You know how mother feels about such women..."

Aziraphale, annoyed shoots back, "She feels love for them just like she does for all of us, just like God says to do. Love thy Neighbor. Try it sometime."

~~~

Crowley stares downwards at the piece of lined paper in front of him. On it is a ‘T’ chart with all the Pros and Cons of going to a high school party. It’s not for him, he’s already decided he’ll go. No, it’s for his mothers who probably won’t have the same outlook as him.

He works on the chart for at least twenty minutes-- twenty valuable minutes that could have been used doing homework or anything else!-- before giving up. With as much confidence as he can muster he enters his moms' room and declares, “I’m going out on October 31st with Aziraphale. We’ll leave at around nine at night and come back at one or two.”

An ugly snort erupts from Mama. “Absolutely not.”

“But--”

“No,” Mom says. “Mama is right, I don’t know what you’re planning to do that night but damned if you end up in jail Anthony. Nothing good can happen between nine and two.”

“But--” he tries again.

“No.”

“Aziraphale wouldn’t let me end up in jail!”

Mama gives him a look. “Is that supposed to make me feel better hun? Because it doesn’t.”

Crowley waves his hands, “ Wait, no stop! Hold on, let me try again.”

“Try again?” Both mothers repeat with thinly veiled amusement.

“Yes, try again. It’s a party that Aziraphale wants me to go to. It’s not like we’re going to rob a bank.”

“A party?” Mom crosses her arms disapprovingly. “I didn’t think Aziraphale was the party type.”

“Does it matter,” Crowley scrunches his brows, “if he’s a party person. He wants me to come and I already told him I would so…” he trails off and gives his best puppy dog eyes despite still having his glasses on. Clearly, it doesn't work.

“Well, that was your first mistake. When have we ever allowed you to go to a party?” Mama questions him with a smirk.

“What if it's not a party,” Crowley tries, “but instead a large group gathering?”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“But mom--”

“No.”

“Mama--”

“Sorry, that's a no from me.”

Desperate times call for desperate measures. On his hands and knees, he begs. “Please, please, please, please, please--”

“Fine.” Mama relents first much to Mom’s shock. “You can go but you better be home by twelve-thirty and I need to know whose house you're going to.”

“Really? We’re giving in just like that,” Mom shakes her head but doesn't take back what her partner said.

“It's a whole night to ourselves,” Mama whispers loudly in her direction. “Think about it.”

“Oh! You're right.”

Crowley groans like he’s physically pained. “Mom! Mama! Stop being disgusting.”

Mom shoos him away. “Get out of our bedroom and you won't have to hear us.”

He takes the advice and as he walks out he hears one of them say “Oh, and tell us what you're dressing up as before you go!”

~~~

Aziraphale gently knocks on the French doors of his father's study. On the other side, he can hear the grown man grunt in acknowledgment so he opens the doors.

“Yes, son?” He has his eyes on a typed document and hovers over the paper with a highlighter. He doesn’t lookup.

“How was your conference,” the teen blurts out at a loss for how to start the conversation. Now he wishes he had thought of a plan before walking in. “Was it insightful?”

Mr. Sanctus does look up this time and smiles his odd sort of off-putting smile. The kind he uses for the congregation at church. “Ah, yes it was well organized and everything that was talked about was applicable to our church. Definitely will recommend it to the other preachers in the area.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“But that’s not what you came here for, is it?”

Aziraphale falters and glances back. He’s too far from the door now to run. “No, sir.”

“Well spit it out, I didn’t raise a pansy.”

“Can I go to Anathema's house his Halloween?”

Dropping his highlighter Mr. Sanctus widens then squints his eyes. “What was that? You want to go out to your girlfriend’s house, on the devil's night?”

“She’s not my--” He cuts himself off and sighs. “Yes, sir.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why should I trust you,” he reiterated with an edge in his voice. “Tell me why I should trust you to make proper decisions because this sounds like a set-up to a horrible life-altering consequence. If I let you go how will I know you don’t plan on doing anything unsavory with her?”

Aziraphale should have known this was where his father was going. He really should have and yet he still sputters for an answer. “We aren’t-- we won’t-- I won’t--”

“Speak up.”

“It’s not going to be like that. We aren’t like that,” He settles on. “I’m only going to her house to spend time with her and her family. Nothing unsavory or the sort.”

Incredulity, Mr. Sanctus looks at him. 

“I swear.”

He takes a hefty breath. “Alright. I’m trusting you. Do not let me down,” he warns lowly.

“So I can go?” Aziraphale blinks in surprise. 

“You may go. It will be just you, her, and her parents correct?”

“Yes, just us.” Liar. He’s now a liar and the worst part is he doesn’t even feel guilty as the lie slips past his lips. Lying is apart of the ten commandments and he just broke it.

“Well then,” he picks up his highlighter from the ground. “I think we are done here. Close the door on your way out alright?”

“Yes father,” and with that, he scurries upstairs to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actual party is chapter 10 (not next chapter but the chapter after that)
> 
> GIVE ME COMMENTS, KUDOS, YEAH YEAH YEAH


	9. Sure, let's talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub and Crowley talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: weed use and emotional breakdown 
> 
> lot's of replacing "s" for "z"

The day is Sunday so Aziraphale is preoccupied with church, therefore, Crowley is bored out of his mind. In the middle of the woods he leans on a crooked tree waiting for Beelzebub to get here.

The two decided that they’d go stir up some minor trouble today. Maybe they’d set fire to a bag of shit on someone’s doorstep, maybe they’d key a car, maybe they’d go egg a house in plain day like madmen-- the possibilities are endless. They tended to meet in the middle of nowhere for their scheming though out of habit. So that’s why he was in the forest alone.

Quietly Beelzebub approaches the teen from behind, stepping lightly as to not make a sound on the leaves below her feet, and pounces on his back with a loud, “Boo Bitch!”

“What the fu--” He stops midway when he sees who jumped on his back.

“Jesus christ,” He hisses. “What the hell Beelz?”

She’s bucked off of him and shrugs after picking herself off the ground. “Oh you know, I wanted to make an entranze.”

“Drama queen.”

“Zo what,” she challenges him with a cocked eyebrow.

“So nothing I guess.”

“Did you take your new car out here,” she asks looking around for the ride.

“Why? You want a ride in it?” So far only one other person has ridden in his beloved Bentley and that has been Aziraphale. Not even Crowley’s mothers have had the pleasure of sitting in the lap of luxury that is Bentley.

She smirks, “Of courze I do.”

“What will you give me in return?”

“I’ve got a fuck ton of browniez back home,” she pauses for dramatic effect as Crowley’s face brightens, “and the house is empty.”

He smiles slyly at the proposition. “You know just what to say, don’t you?”

Not even ten minutes later they’ve zipped on down to the Prince household and Beelzebub opens her front door letting Crowley step in first. “After you.”

“The ztuff iz in the pantry labeled ‘mine,’” she tells him and watches as he goes and pulls out the goods. “Zo, where do you want to go for this?”

He looks down at the brownies. They look like they’ve been baked to the perfect temperature, dark brown and delicious. “You said the house was empty, right?”

“Right.”

“So does it matter?”

“Well,” she says, “I’d rather not have to clean up after you if you become anything other than a happy ztoner this time.”

“I’m always happy when I’m stoned,” he argues.

“No.” She stares at him with disbelief. “No you aren’t. Everytime I drink or zmoke with you it’z like ruzzian roulette,” she deadpans and reaches for the platter in his hand.

He lets her take it and says, “What are you talking about?”

“You rotate through four typez. Happy ztoner, zentimental ztoner, mean ztoner, and horny ztoner.”

“I do not!”

“Oh,” she nods and begins to unwrap the brownies, “but you do. It’z okay though, I tolerate you anyway.”

“How heartwarming.”

She takes a bite of a corner brownie and lets out a noise of satisfaction as her teeth sink into it. “I know, I’m a zaint.”

“So we’re getting high on the main level,” he says as she finishes the first of the baked goods.

“Mhm, I guezz we are.” She then hands him a brownie-- distinctly not a corner one-- and says, “come on then.”

TIme passes strangely when you’re high one moment you’re fully dressed in a friends kitchen and the next you’re sitting on said friends couch as you both lack pants. Or at least, that’s how Crowley found himself. The platter is nearly gone, only one remains. On one side of the couch Crowley stares at it hungry and on the other Beelzebub flips him off.

“Beelzebub If you eat the last one I will--” It’s too late whatever Crowley was going to threaten her with dies on his tongue as she throws the last brownie into her mouth. The girl smugly looks at his wide-frown and chews with her mouth open that way he can see all that he’s missing.

“I hate you,” he says with a disgusted look.

She swallows then says, “Whatever you zay, lozer.”

“Loser,” he scoffs, “I’ll have you know angel touched me.”

She blinks slowly and waits for more. “He touches you everyday Crowley, what the--”

“--My face though!”

“Your face?” She’s unimpressed.

“Yes,” Crowley jumps up from the couch only to fall over on the carpeted floor. It turns out his pants aren’t completely off, he just pulled them down to his ankles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” he pushes himself back up onto the couch. 

Laughing she says, “Idiot.”

“Shut up. He touched my face which is more than I can say for you,” Crowley points a finger at her.

“I don’t like Aziraphale idiot.”

“No but you like mystery man and uh…” he trails off trying to find his words. “...I bet you haven’t even talked to him since that day at the park.” He decides on.

“Ouch,” she shakes her head. “Little Anthony iz a hurtful ztoner today,” she rolls her eyes trying to deflect his judgmental gaze.

“So I’m right,” he declares triumphantly like a man who hadn’t just tripped over his own pants mere seconds ago.

“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re wrong.”

Crowley’s mouth falls to the floor. “Beelz! You didn’t tell me?”

She gives him a noncommittal half-shrug. “Eh, you were buzy buying your car and all that lately, zo I never mentioned it.”

“Bullshit, did you learn the fuckers name finally then?”

A tiny grin forms on her face. “Yeah, hiz name is Gabriel.”

He chokes on air. “Excuse me?”

“I zaid,” she huffs at his lack of attention, “his name iz Gabriel.”

“Can being high fuck with your audio shit? Because I think you just told me his name was Gabriel Sanctus.”

“How did you-- I didn’t tell you hiz last name, I don’t even know his lazt name! How did you know that?”

“Oh fuck me,” Crowley mutters into his hands. “It’s a small town Bee, only so many people can be named Gabe...holy shit we’re gonna be in-laws.”

“What?”

“When I marry Aziraphale and you marry Gabriel--”

Beelzebub makes a strangled noise sounding like another “what?”

“--then we’re gonna be brother and sister in-laws!”

“I don’t follow,” her eyes are slits as she tries to concentrate on whatever she just heard.

“Gabriel…”

“Yeah?”

“He’s Aziraphale’s brother.”

“Oh! Oh, oh, oh,” she repeats like a mantra and then cries out, “Oh no!”

“No?”

“Gabriel iz related to Jezuz freak?”

“Hey! Don't call him that!”

“I can't marry a Jezuz freak,” she wails slumping over. “Oh fuck me.”

“I already said that,” Crowley points out.

“Zhut up.”

“Oh my bad,” he sneers with no real malice, “are you having a moment here?”

“Yez I am.”

Crowley’s eyes stray from his despondent friend and over to her kitchen. “I’m hungry,” he says.

She looks at him disapprovingly. “Moment here.”

“Okay. I get it, you're emotionally repressed all the time so this is major for you but also I’m never hungry so we are both having big breakthroughs here.”

“Mean. You're being zo fucking mean right now.”

“It's the hunger that's making me like this.”

“No, it’z the fact that you are a little bitch.”

“Wait Beelz,” Crowley abandons his quest for food momentarily, “that's a grown man.”

“Huh?”

“Good old Gabe is a fucking grown man,” he says. “He goes to some University...uh, in New York, I think."

"What? No, he would have-- it would have come up in conversation. We met again later that weekend and we talked, it would have come up!"

"Obviously it didn't," Crowley laughs. "Anyway you can't date a grown man Beelz so uh, squash that idea down right now."

She scowls at him. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do? I'm a Zenior, I'm nearly eighteen!" 

"And?"

"I can do az I pleaze, peazant."

"Peasant?"

"Peazant," she says again.

"I'm not high enough for this conversation."

"Zo let'z not have it," she suggests. "And put your pantz back on."

He does not move to pull up his pants but instead asks, "Are you going to Anathema's party?"

"Yez," she says to his surprise.

“Really?”

“Dagon told me I had to.”

Resisting the urge to snort loudly he asks, “Since when do you listen to what she says?” Dagon is a bitch and both of them know it. She’s bossy, annoying, and a complete control freak. So, she’s like Beelzebub but lacks any charm to make up for it. And no, her name isn't really Dagon but she's a little demon so the nickname fits excellently.

Beelzebub glares. “Zince you fucked off this zchool year to go zuck your idiotic angel’z dick.”

“What the hell?” Crowley shouts at the abrupt hostility. 

“I mean…” She begins but doesn’t finish. “Nothing. Nothing, fuck forget it.”

He repeats, “What the hell?”

“Want to get drunk?”

“Stop it. What the fuck is your problem?”

She sighs. “You spend all your time with him, why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why? What are you looking to get out of thiz,” She waves her hands lazily, “arrangement?”

“So I can’t have friends? Really, is this where you put your foot down? Me having friends is--?” A hand hits his chest causing him to stop.

“Zhut up for a moment and think.” She snaps at him. “Think. What do you want? You want thiz...angel guy to be your right? Iz that ever going to happen? You zpend zo much time with him, you dote around him like a love-zick puppy, you talk about him all the time, and for what?”

Now Crowley does pull his pants up but only so he can all but run himself out the front door. He doesn’t like this conversation, he doesn’t want to have it, he wanted to get high and eat junk food not talk about his unrequited crush.

It’s a shame he’s too clumsy and Beelzebub is too quick. She yanks him by the hood of his hoodie and drags him back to the living room. Ripping off his glasses to stare into his eyes she commands him to talk.

He doesn’t say anything.

“If you don’t ztart talking, I will.” She warns him as she carelessly throws the glasses aside.

He doesn’t budge. 

“Fine. I think that your wazting your time. I think you're dealing with a boy who will need a lot more than juzt you and your motherz to help him realize himself. I think that you’re going to get your heart zmashed into tiny partz and--” she only stops her rant once she hears Crowley crack. 

It’s starts with a sniffle and then out comes a shrill cry. “I know, I know, I know, I know, I know!” He wails pathetically as Beelzebub looks down at him in horror. He’s never cried in front of her before. Never even so much as gotten a little misty eyed. 

Never.

“I know, it’s useless! It’s hopeless! He might bot even be gay or into boys or whatever!”

Beelzebub highly doubts that but she bites her tongue. Scooting over to Crowley she reaches out for a hug. They haven’t hugged each other in years. But now that dry spell is over as he lunges at her, gripping her tightly.

“Anthony,” she murmurs lightly, “It’z going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.”

He keeps going though. “Or worse! What if he hates me because I’m trans? I didn’t tell him, what if he doesn’t understand or what if he somehow thinks I lied to him or--”

“Zhh,” she says, “none of that. I’m zorry I didn’t mean it like that. I juzt meant that I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? Ztop crying,” she pleads with him.

It’s too late now he’s lost it. He whimpers something completely unintelligible and then continues to cry into her shoulder. 

As she awkwardly hubs his back in her best attempt at being comforting she says, mostly to herself, “We’ve unlocked another ztoner type: zad.”

Crowley doesn’t find that interesting and continues to bawl his eyes out. Eventually he comes down from his emotional conniption fit only after what is about forty-five minutes of the two of them sitting on the sofa doing nothing.

“Better,” She asks when she notices his blubbering has let up.

“No.”

“I’m zorry, I didn’t know you felt all that. I knew you liked him but I didn’t know it waz that bad.”

“Yeah well,” he sniffs, “neither did I.” He did know it was that bad, he was just pretending he had more control over his emotions than that. “I don’t know what I want from him Beelz. I mean, I would love for us to fall and love and he and I move to London and we live our lives far away from this shitty New England town but that’s not realistic is it?”

“It izn’t realiztic no, but maybe reality will zuprize you, thiz one time at leazt.”

“I want a happy ending,” he says quietly. “I want to be okay.”

“I want you to be okay azwell.”

“Are you serious about Gabriel?”

“No, well,” she thinks for a moment. “I’m not as zerious as you. It would be nice, it's nice to be loved and as dizguzting as it sounds I want that. And he’z kind to me zo I do like him, but I’m nothing like you and Aziraphale.” 

“Okay.”

She makes a buzzing noise from her throat and Crowley closes his eyes.

“Hey, are you going to put on your pants,” he asks after a while.

“Thiz is my houze,” is a sufficient enough reply from her.

~~~

Aziraphale is careful the weeks leading up Anathema’s party. He makes sure he does as he’s told when he’s told as to not raise suspicion. He acts as the model young man his mother and father have raised him to be. 

All the while he feels his insides rot away as the guilt of lying has finally caught up to him. It’s the afternoon of the party, a Friday, when Crowley asks him what he’ll be wearing for the party and with that question the guilt washes away as if it was never there to begin with.

“Oh,” he exclaims, “I completely forgot about an outfit! Silly me.”

With a fond chuckle he Crowley says, “I thought you would. That’s why I already got you something.”

“You did?”

“Yes I did, angel.” He winks. “You’ll be going as an angel tonight.”

Rolling his eyes Aziraphale smiles softly. “Oh goodness, really? What, will you be a demon, my dear?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because you’re absolutely devilish all the time, it only makes sense. A true demon, you are.”

With that comment Crowley is reminded of what Gabriel called him back in September after church. Demon. Being called that by Aziraphale didn’t hurt in fact it felt rather pleasant. 

“Angel, you flatter me.”

“I do try.”

Crowley pretends not to hear that because he’s not sure how he would react to it. The bell rings and Aziraphale, the perfect student he is, scrambles to get to class. 

“Bye,” he calls as he rushes away.

Crowley takes out a pen and paper immediately once he’s around the corner and writes down:

_Things To Do Tonight_

  * __Don’t let Aziraphale near any alcohol or drugs__


  * _Don’t get too fucked up_


  * _Take off glasses and show Aziraphale my eyes_


  * _Come out properly to him by the end of the night_



He does something he hasn’t done ever, and prays. He prays that he’ll be able to complete the list tonight and he prays his life doesn’t come crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter. I don't like it because it isn't emotionally devastating-- or at least not enough so. Also keep in mind this is a Ineffable Husbands fic so Ineffable Bureaucracy is really seen from the outside of this fic.


	10. The Party (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is use of older queer terms like transexual in thjs chapter also ONE instance of misgendering but its censored out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta read so tell me of mistakes  
> this is part one of the party night (there are two parts)

Trigger Warnings: OPIOD/DRUG USE and UNDERAGE DRINKING

* * *

Aziraphale is a nervous wreck. In thirty minutes he would be leaving his house in his normal attire pretending to head to Anathema's house for a wholesome family meeting but in actuality, he would be walking down the block to meet Crowley and change in his car into his Angel costume.

He had never made up such a large lie before and he desperately prayed that it would all turn out alright. Eventually, thirty minutes pass and he bids farewell to his mother and father and walked out his front door into the chilly autumn air. He takes a deep breath and hurries his way down the street to the outline of a vintage car parked not too far.

He opens the door wordlessly and lets out a heavy sigh.

Crowley jokes, “The night just started angel, come on you can’t be tired already.” He’s already dressed as the devil with horns red as blood sticking out of his head and a cape in the same color. In the back of the car is a tiny black pitchfork with flames on it. Sure it’s a tad tacky but he was only in Party City for about twenty minutes so sue him if he couldn’t get the best costume out there.

“Just drive,” Aziraphale says bluntly. He hadn’t meant to come off as rude but he was just so stressed out. He needed to get as far away from his house as possible.

With a quirk of the brow Crowley looks at his friend. What had him in such a bad mood? Nonetheless, he hit the gas and tore down the suburban streets to the edge of town where the Device mansion stood on its own hill.

The manor was on a sprawling piece of land that was around three full acres of beautifully kept garden and lawn. It sat taller and wider than any other houses in the town and was elegant and new-age in its exterior while other houses were more traditional.

Cars were lined up from Anathema’s driveway down to the street as people arrived and Crowley scowled at the lack of parking. “Hey Angel,” he says, “It’s going to take me a while to find a place to park, why don’t you change and get out?”

“I’m already changed my dear,” Aziraphale responds and Crowley wonders how he had missed his best friend stripping in the car seat next to him. He then begins to think of his best friend stripping and finds that that fantasy should be filed away for later.

Aziraphale looks just as good as Crowley thought he would in the angel outfit. He’s adorned in white costume robes and a pair of pale little wings stick out from his back. Over his head is a halo that looks almost real as it hovers over his head.

“Well then, get on out. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Aziraphale frowns. “I don’t know...I don’t think it would be a good idea if I went in by myself…”

“Oh come on,” he insists, “no one is gonna bite you. It will only be a few minutes, besides you know Anathema and she’ll keep you company.”

“I suppose so,” is all Aziraphale manages to get out before the Bentley’s passenger door opens up unprompted as if it was God signaling him to get out. He takes the hint and exits the car. With all the courage he can find he walks towards the house and as he gets closer he can hear all the noise that people are making inside of it.

When he finally opens the door the noise blast him back with its sheer volume. It’s an absolute zoo in here and it’s only nine-something o’clock. From all corners of the house, he can hear booming sounds of teenage stupidity. From the girl throwing up behind one of the foyer’s decorative pillars to the group of miscellaneous partygoers playing some game with a knife in the formal dining room, Aziraphale can hear it all.

And it’s all so overwhelming. In the back of his mind, he curses himself. Crowley had told him parties would be like this. He was warned and yet he still came. For a moment he felt so stupid. Of course parties were like this, and of course, they weren’t his scene. But in the mere moment that he sulked Anathema walked up to him with the biggest grin plastered on her face.

“Aziraphale! How are you,” she slurred, clearly tipsy. She is dressed in her normal garb but with a sign that says: ‘this is what a witch looks like.’ So creative, so bold, so Anathema.

“Oh, Ms. Device, how lovely it is to see you.”

“Great to see you to bud. Glad you could make it.” From behind her emerges Newt, dressed as Sir Isaac Newton, who hands him a red solo cup.

“What’s in it,” Aziraphale asks wearily.

“Lemonade,” both he and Anathema respond.

“Oh, wonderful.”

“Yeah, Ana told me you wouldn’t want any alcohol.” Newt wasn’t being judgmental, he was simply stating the facts. “In the back of the kitchen, there is lemonade and sodas. Don’t go down to the bar though, there won’t be jack shit for you there.”

Aziraphale, desperate to make conversation asks, “I haven't seen you around much Newt, why is that?”

“Oh, he's been nursing his rejection scars,” She says for him. Oh yeah, she is definitely tipsy.

“That is uh,” Newt bites his lip awkwardly and shrugs, “one way to put it.”

“The only way to put it really. Now Aziraphale, where is your loverboy?”

“Who?”

Newt supplies helpfully, “She means Crowley.”

“Parking.”

“Ah, so you admit he really is your lover boy!” She shouts. Lucky for her, it's already too loud for anyone other than the three of them to hear her outburst.

“He’s not my lover boy, he’s just my friend. We really are just friends Anathema, why must you insist we are anything else?”

“Because,” Newt says, “you don’t seem like just friends. But hey, that’s just an outside perspective.”

Aziraphale is ready to say something in response but before he can Crowley comes up behind him and wraps his arm around his waist. In a friendly way of course though. “Hello Angel, what did I miss?”

"Oh,” Anathema squeals, “Is that a couples outfit I see?”

Crowley bears a toothy grin. “Yes, yes we’re adorable. Now come on back angel, I’ve got to tell you something alright?” He doesn’t wait for a response as he pulls Aziraphale away from the hostess and towards the backyard.

  
The inside of the house is just as nice as the outside. All around are expensive-looking paintings, pottery, and electronics. If Crowley wasn’t on a mission he would have stopped to take in the beauty that was the Device family home. But he was on a mission and admiration could wait.

On the backside is a pool as large as a small house complete with a slide and jacuzzi on the side. Already people are swimming in it whether they are wearing a swimsuit or just their Halloween costumes.

That isn’t what Crowley came back here for though. No, he came here to execute his plan perfectly. He realized as he was parking that he couldn’t control outside factors like whether or not Aziraphale drank but he could control his own actions and he didn’t trust himself so it was best to get what he needed to do done and over with before he could fuck it up.

They make it far past any other human beings in the backyard before Aziraphale finally rips his hand away from Crowley’s grip and asks, “What are we doing out there? I know you said you were overwhelmed by crowds but we just got here my dear.”

“No, no, no. That’s not it."

“Then what is it?”

“I have to--” Crowley inhales shakily. “I have to tell you something and you can’t freak out, okay?” He then pulls a paper out from his pants and unfolds it.

Aziraphale’s brows knit together. “Are you okay?”

Still looking at the paper he says, “Yes. No. Maybe...just promise me you won’t freak out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you can’t tell anyone else. Alright?” He shoves the paper back into his pocket.

“My dear, you’re beginning to scare me,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley moves to take off his glasses but then reconsiders. They often say eyes are a window to the soul and dear Lord, he terrified of Aziraphale being able to see his soul. Especially now. He pulls off the band-aid fast. “I didn’t always look like this.”

Aziraphale grins, perplexed. “Of course not dear. When we were both small I knew how you looked and it wasn’t like this. But to be fair I didn’t look like I do now either. That's a part of growing up."

“I...angel do you remember when I ran by your house and we were both in middle school? Do you remember you called me a girl?”

In the back of Aziraphale’s mind, where all his most embarrassing moments go, the memory plays on repeat. Pink dust his cheeks as he nods weakly.

“Yes, and I’m still sorry about that.”

“Yeah well, you weren’t the only one who thought I was a girl.”

“What?”

Crowley holds up a finger as he needs a second to think of how to put this. He knows many people haven’t heard of the term transexual and even less transgender but he needs to try and make his angel understand. All he can do is try and hope for the best.

“Do you know what a transexual is, angel?”

“I..” He trails off as he thinks. “I think so. It’s when a person dresses as the opposite gender right?”

“Close. That’s a transvestite or crossdresser. A transexual or transgender person is an individual who is born as one sex and because that sex doesn’t match their gender they desire to transition.”

Aziraphale follows along but then asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Uh,” Now for the moment of truth, “because I’m trans.”

The two boys look at each other. Crowley wears a painful smile on his face and shakes his hands as if to say ‘ta-da.’

“You are trans?” Aziraphale repeats with skepticism. “Why don't you look like it?”

Crowley asks, “What does trans look like, angel?”

“Not you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it...it just doesn’t.” He’s never been so inarticulate in his life. He doesn’t get tongue-tied, or at least he doesn’t unless he’s with Crowley.

“Can I ask you what a gay person looked like in your eyes before you met my moms?”

Aziraphale winces. He doesn’t think the other boy wants to hear what he thought they looked like. It was far from a flattering interpretation.

“So,” Crowley starts, “What does trans look like? Does it look like a man in a dress? Or a tom-boy? What?”

Aziraphale blinks as if understanding now. “It looks like you,” he tries again.

“Exactly,” a crooked smile forms on his lips. “Can I get a wahoo?”

He doesn’t get a wahoo. “Okay. But you're still a boy right?”

“In the flesh,” he says. “Big boy human, that’s me.”

With a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon Aziraphale lets out a laugh. “Oh, good then. I’m glad you’re still a boy, I fear I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you told me you were a girl.”

“How come?”

As if his face was catching on fire Aziraphale fans himself. In a matter of seconds, his whole face is red and ablaze. He avoids looking at his counterpart and says a nonchalantly as possible, “No reason my dear.” The reason is Aziraphale could never kiss a girl but he sure could kiss Crowley.

On the high of how well this is going Crowley says, “I have another thing to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“I like you, a lot. I would like to, uh, ngk, I guess kiss you?” That was the best Crowley could come up with. That was his gorgeous confession. That was it. Congrats! He’s a gay disaster!

Aziraphale gasps at him in shock. He then laughs. It isn't a cruel laugh or anything of the sort but one of light-hearted humor. “I know. Or I knew deep in my mind that what we have isn’t normal but...never once did I believe you would like me. I mean, I’m so…”

“Amazing? Breathtaking? Handsome?” Crowley coos and takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands.

“Oh, do shut up!” Aziraphale blushes profusely and giggles like a giddy school girl as the warmth of Crowley’s palms make him feel absolutely wonderful.

“So, you like me too?” His voice is high with anticipation. This is going so much better than he thought it would.

“Mhm, though,” Aziraphale’s face drops slightly. “I-- well-- I don't think we could ever date my dear…” He drifts off with sorrow evident in his tone as he looks down at the grass.

Crowley’s mouth gapes open as terror flows through his veins. “Why not?”

“I just can’t,” Is what Aziraphale says as he moves away from the warmth of Crowley's hands. “I can't. I can't abandon God for temporary happiness. I like you but I can't love you, God didn't make man that way.” Tears swell in his eyes as he speaks. “Your mothers are an anomaly. They do love each other but I’m different, I have always walked the path of God and I can't change that. Not now.”

An edge as sharp as a knife creeps into his tone. “You’re insane, angel. You can't be with me why? Because some random guy in the sky said no? You can, there's nothing wrong with being gay--”

With heavy tears falling from his face Aziraphale whispers harshly, “I am not gay!” He's never put himself in the same sentence as the word gay before and it feels foreign.

“Fine. Okay so your bisexual like me--"

"You're bisexual?"

"Yes," Crowley rolls his eyes as if it was obvious. "I adore woman. So maybe you're like me.”

“No! I’m not like you or your moms. I’m-- I am what God intended. I have to be. I can't be anything else.”

Crowley finds himself barely containing his rage and confusion. “What's wrong with you? We aren't sinners, we are just like everyone else! There isn't a damn thing wrong with being gay!” He's so glad they decided to have this conversation in the middle of nowhere with no one around. The last thing he needs to deal with is extra homophobia tonight.

“Of course there isn't,” Aziraphale cries helplessly. “There is nothing wrong with you or anyone else being the way you are but I can't, okay? My dear, I just...I can't.” He sounds and feels so weak as the words fall out his mouth.

“Why can't you?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale starts with sadness, “all of humanity is a sinner. We are born into sin. I am a sinner as are you and so is everyone else...but I can't let anyone know about this particular sin. It would be too much. I’m already a disappointment, I need to be better, I need to be what they want from me. I like you, romantically,” he admits quietly. “I also love you, but as a friend and it can only be as a friend.”

The two are silent for a long while. Well, Crowley is silent as Aziraphale sniffles and moans and tries to get his tears under control. Eventually, Crowley speaks though. “Why does it feel like you’re breaking up with me? We aren't dating, and I guess we’ll never be but still, I feel like your breaking up with me.”

Aziraphale just helplessly shrugs and mouths a liturgy of apologies. Ultimately, Crowley walks away leaving Aziraphale alone. A weeping angel in the garden. What a sight to see.

Crowley makes is way through the backyard and into the house determined to get in the basement and pour himself something strong at the bar. When he gets down there Beelzebub, who is not dressed up at all, and Dagon are lingering over the bar with cups in their hands talking to a few other people he knows.

“Aye, it’s like, Anthony,” Dagon obnoxiously calls and waves her arms. “Over here!” She’s wearing a slutty businesswoman outfit complete with a tiny briefcase.

Begrudgingly Crowley does come. He hates the fact that she used his first name, barely anyone is allowed to use that name and she isn't on the allowed list. “What?”

“It’s just, like, I haven't seen you in soooo long. What have you, like, been up to?”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes as Dagon talks and takes a sip from her cup. She thinks Dagon is dumber than rocks, and she's right.

“Oh you know, I’ve been around,” Crowley says easily. “Nothing too interesting has been going on with me though, sorry to disappoint.”

“Booo,” Dagon says. “You are, like, supposed to be way cooler than the rest of these losers!”

Everyone huddled around her gives her an offended look. She then amends herself. “Sorry the rest of these losers and [REDACTED] .” She was referring to Beelzebub, unfortunately, she used the wrong name despite Beelzebub being out to her.

Didn't matter though because Crowley knew it wasn't a safe area, what with how many people outside his circle could overhear him, to correct Dagon so the misnaming went unchecked. Beelzebub stares down at her cup with her cheeks red and she refuses to meet Crowley’s gaze.

“So um, like, are you going to be swimming Anthony,” Dagon asks twirling her pretty brunette hair around her finger. She’s flirting, she has been since Crowley permanently moved back and it’s so obvious it hurts.

“No, no, I’m not a huge swimmer. Didn't bring trunks or anything anyway.” he has never bought a pair of swim trunks in his life and he hasn't gone into a body of water in five years. The day he swims is either the day he has top surgery or the day he shrivels up and dies.

“Oh, boooo! I was hoping to see you half-naked,” she sighs dreamily.

He gives her a half-assed apologetic smile. “Maybe next time?”

With an attempt at a sultry expression she purrs, “Oh, there will be a next time.” He wants to cringe so bad.

Dagon continues talking for a good ten more minutes before Crowley manages to break away and get what he came down for: a drink. He pours himself a hefty amount of Smirnoff Ice and Orange Juice and downs the entire cup in one go.

He needs to get hammered.

~~~

Aziraphale wants to go home. He can't go home though because his ride is now probably never going to speak to him ever again. As the tears slow he takes deeper, more efficient breaths and his hand stops hurting. He finds his heart is still tight though.

He stands and makes his way back to the party. As he walks aimlessly through the house he realizes that it’s not just people from his school who are here. It’s probably half of New England’s teenagers in this house.

He searches for a friendly face-- or even a sort of familiar one-- but fails. In the large sea of people, he drifts like a piece of flotsam. Finally, after he bumps into someone and they turn around to snarl at him does he see someone he knows.

Ligur.

“Watch where the hell you’re going Jesus freak!”

“I uh, my apologies.”

“Woah,” Ligur says as he studies Aziraphale's face. “You look like you are in need of a good time, dweeb. Lucky for you I got something for you.” He yells at someone near him to bring him his bag and soon enough he’s holding a backpack full of...something. From the front of the backpack, he pulls out a few tiny bags well-stocked with a white powder.

“Oh my God is that heroin?”

“Nah, it’s better than heroin. Legal too...kinda. it’s Fentanyl.”

“Like the opioid?” He remembers in Dorian Gray, which is his favorite book in case you didn’t know, how Dorian was addicted to such substances. But yet he doesn't run.

Ligur scoffs at his knowledge. “Yeah, exactly that smartass. First baggies free. Wanna try?”

Against all his better judgment Aziraphale does not say no. He says, “How do I take it?”

“You can snort it or inject it. I don't have any needles though, so you’ll have to go to someone else for that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, let's do it, I have nothing to lose.”

With surprise written all over his face, Ligur hands him the baggie slowly. “You sure? I mean, I’d love a new customer but you don't seem the type…”

“To hell with stereotypes,” Aziraphale says with his eyes focused on the bag. “I’m my own person.”

“Okay then, let me take you to the bathroom and I’ll help you do your first line.”

In one of the many powder rooms on the main level, Ligur uses a blade to line up three perfectly even lines of Fentanyl. He then motions for Aziraphale to go ahead. So he leans over the bathroom sink and he snorts it and he does everything in his power not to huff it back out because Holy Hell, it burns!

He does all three lines and thanks Ligur, exiting the bathroom feeling a little loopy. Ten minutes after he’s left the bathroom the effects hit him. He feels weightless as he all-but prances into the living room.

He feels...happy. He feels so happy that he might cry. All the tightness in his chest is gone, all the pain from his headache gone. He feels amazing.

He goes to the living room and sits down on the floor watching people pass by him. On the love-seat sit a couple grossly and vocally making out. He watches them basically eat each other's faces and thinks, ‘That could be me and Crowley…’ he then scrunches his face up at the thought. He made his decision and he’s sticking to it.

The night starts to fade from that point on. In and out his consciousness rolls like the ocean tide. He doesn't know what happens to him to make him end up in a bedroom by himself but he lays on an untouched, neatly made bed and blinks back into proper consciousness.

At first, Aziraphale is scared because good God, he can't remember how he got here and then he’s in a state of nausea beyond belief. With his stomach clenching, he bends over the edge of the bed and vomits violently.

As he wretches, he thinks about how badly he wants to go home. He thinks about how he wants to be wrapped up in the comfort of his own bed with a book. He thinks about how Dorian Gray was so stupid to take any form of opium and how he’s even more stupid for doing the same thing. He thinks he regrets a lot of things tonight.

However, thoughts don't do anything compared to actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was all gonna be one chapter but the part ended up being like....a lot of words....yikes! so part 2 will be posted in a day or so
> 
> ××××××  
> Give me ur comments kudos and concerns babes!


	11. The Party (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: corporal punishment mention at the end

Many people claim there is comfort at the bottom of a pool but Anthony J Crowley doesn’t believe them. He’s about to find out for himself.  
  
  
Still wearing his costume, cape and all he stands at the edge of the diving board with his mind scrambled to bits. If he was smart he’s back out now but he’s an idiot who is drunk out of his mind so he instead jumps down below.  
  
  
He hits the water moments later, face first, and he can feel his glasses break on impact. He doesn't care. He sinks down to the bottom of the pool and only when he can feel the concrete base on his skin does he open his eyes.  
  
  
He’s ten feet below. He can see it all. A multitude of feet tread above him, a few people swimming underneath the surface, and another person like him sitting at the bottom. They go up soon after he comes down though.  
  
  
Crowley's eyes burn. The chlorine attacks his eyes and he blinks rapidly to try and get them adjusted. Momentarily he wonders if he should have taken off his socks. He took off his shoes. He doesn’t know. He also doesn't know how long he'll stay under here. Maybe until he dies. Maybe until he gets bored.  
  
  
Slowly he begins to run out of oxygen and the back of his mind tells him matter-of-factly that he will pass out if he doesn't start making his way back up. However, he can't find it in himself to actually propel himself upwards  
  
  
Luckily he doesn't have to. On instinct, his body goes back up and as he breaks to the surface he gasps wildly for air.  
  
  
On the edge of the pool, as if waiting for him, sits Anathema who now rocks a modest bathing suit. “I thought you would be here. I know you are drunk but I need you to go to my bedroom. It’s the third room in the right-wing of the house. The door says: ‘keep out.’”  
  
  
Crowley looks at her clearly confused.  
  
  
“Just do it. Or else.”  
  
  
So like an awkward duck Crowley pulls himself out of the pool and trudges up to Anathema's bedroom inelegantly. It's hard to walk when you’ve had one or two too many shots of Boilermaker but he gets there eventually.  
  
  
He stumbles over stairs and past people and the higher up he goes the less noise he can hear. The walls in this house are amazing at noise cancelation or maybe people are leaving for the night, he doesn't know.  
  
  
He forgets which door is hers so he opens them all. The first room one has a few kids passing a bong, the second is a bathroom and the third is what he’s searching for. When he opens the door, he sees the lights are off and Newt is rubbing out a dark stain on the carpet and Aziraphale not moving on the bed.  
  
  
“ ‘S he okay?” Crowley slurs at Newt.  
  
  
“He’s fine. Just had too much fun,” Newt rolls his eyes but the concern is there.  
  
  
“Alcohol?”  
  
  
“No opium. Don't know which type-- he couldn’t tell me coherently-- but I’ve managed to nurse most of it out of his system by now.” He stops scrubbing and wipes his forehead. “I’m going to head out, if you need me I’ll be with Anathema. There is water in the mini-fridge underneath her bed. Make sure he doesn't die, okay? Anathema would kill you if you killed him.”  
  
  
Crowley gives him a thumbs-up as he leaves the room. “Hey, angel?” he realizes then that he should stop with the nickname. It only will make him pine more.  
  
  
Aziraphale doesn't move.  
  
  
He pokes the other a few times and when he doesn't stir Crowley says, “Angel, ’m sorry for fucking everything up. It was really selfish of me to tell you that 'm in love with you. I should have known you weren't ready. I don't know if you'll ever be ready…I know you can't hear me but...”  
  
  
He nestles himself by the side of the bed and drifts off into a nap. It takes a while for Aziraphale to wake up but when he does his heart leaps at the sight of Crowley, who is soaking wet and sunglasses-less, at the edge of the bed with his head down.  
  
  
“Crowley…?”  
  
  
He lifts his head. His eyes are golden brown, almost yellow and his pupils run long-ways like a snake’s. “Anthony. Right now ‘m Anthony. “  
  
  
“Okay. Anthony.”  
  
  
“Do you need some water? I know you barfed or something due to whatever you took and you need to rehydrate. You can die of dehydration. You can die of overhydration too. Apparently you’ll just up and piss yourself to death,” he rambles.  
  
  
Aziraphale blinks unsure and unwilling to respond to that. “Why are you here? Why are you wet?”  
  
  
“Pool. And I heard you were in trouble.”  
  
  
“Why don't you leave me,” He moans at the ceiling. “I’ve clearly hurt you. All I ever do is hurt you.”  
  
  
“Yeah, well,” Crowley hums in thought. “You're still my best friend. As much as it pains me to admit, I can't lose you to a couple of pesky unrequited feelings. Now don't ever mention it again.”  
  
He wants to scream about how they aren't unrequited. He wants to yell from the rooftops how much he likes Crowley. He wants to reiterate for the whole world to hear that he does like him and that if he could he would be with him. But he can't. “I’m sorry Crowley.”  
  
  
“I told you to call me Anthony. Who’d you get it from?”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“Opium. Who dealt it to you and how much they charge? Gonna go get’cha money back.”  
  
  
“Your drunk,” Aziraphale says as if that is an answer.  
  
  
“And?”  
  
  
“You couldn't shake someone down like this. Besides, it doesn't matter. It was free.”  
  
  
“Ligur then huh?” Crowley scowls. “Bastard s’always looking for new clients. I remember he once sold Beelzebub and me a batch of shitty synthetic weed. Nearly gave both of us a fuckin seizure. Can’t trust his drugs. Never trust his shit, ever. Sorry, he got to you. I should’ve been there…”  
  
  
Aziraphale shakes his head. “No. You couldn't have known. Ugh, can I get some water?”  
  
  
“Yeah, ‘course you can,” he says and opens the fridge underneath the bed pulling out a water bottle. “There you go.”  
  
  
“How did you know that was there?”  
  
  
“Newt told me.”  
  
  
He nods. “That makes sense he did find me. Whose bedroom am I in, do you know?”  
  
  
“Anathema’s.”  
  
  
“Oh my…” Aziraphale can feel embarrassment color his face. “I should apologize to her for taking up her space. We best leave the room now,” he says and moves to get off the bed but Crowley stops him.  
  
  
“Nope. You can apologize tomorrow. Right now you need to get better so I can drive you home.”  
  
  
Aziraphale stares at him. “You can't be serious.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“You're drunk! You can't drive! You already drive like a drunk normally, I can only imagine how horrid you are behind the wheel actually intoxicated.”  
  
  
“Well, how else are we getting home,” Crowley asks incredulously. “You’re not driving my baby. She probably won't even startup for you, if I’m honest. A bit tetchy, she is.”  
  
  
“Oh no, I wouldn't dream of touching the Bentley. Besides, I’m not in the proper state either. We are going to have to wait it out.”  
  
  
“Ang--” he stops the endearment before he can finish it. “Azria we don't have time to do that. I’ve got to get home.”  
  
  
“What time is it now?”  
  
  
They both glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was a quarter after one.  
  
  
“Damn. ‘M past my curfew already,” Crowley sighs. “When’d you say you’d be home?”  
  
  
“I...I don't remember ever saying.”  
  
  
“Shit.”  
  
  
Aziraphale gravely agrees. “Shit.”  
  
  
“What do we do?”  
  
  
“How badly would your parents react if you called them?”  
  
  
“Right now?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
Crowley blanches at the mere idea. “They’d kill me.”  
  
  
“How would they react if you died driving home right now?”  
  
  
“They would...kill me?” He says with uncertainty.  
  
  
Like the bastard he is Aziraphale says, “So either way you’ll be dead, correct? Why not just call them and explain the situation?”  
  
  
Scoffing Crowley asks, "You got a cellphone?”  
  
  
“No but Anathema has a home phone right there,” he points to where one sits on the wall. “So go on and call.”  
  
  
Crowley reluctantly grabs the phone and dials his mothers, hoping they won't pick up. They do.  
  
  
“Hello?” It’s Mama and she sounds scared out of her mind. “Who is this?”  
  
  
“Mama,” he says.  
  
  
All worry escapes her. “Anthony J. Crowley! Where are you!? Who are you calling from!?” But before he can even answer her voice levels dangerously flat. “Never mind that. Are you physically okay?”  
  
  
“Yeah, ‘m okay mama. Me and Aziraphale are at Anathema’s.”  
  
  
She tsks loudly. “You sound off. Are you alright?” She knows what exactly is ‘off’ but wants him to say it out loud.  
  
  
He groans.  
  
  
“So asking my son if he’s alright is groan worthy now?”  
  
  
“Mama, don't torture me like this.”  
  
  
“I didn’t raise a liar or a coward. Tell me you’re drunk, with your own words, or else there will be consequences.”  
  
  
“No,” Crowley denies drunkenly. “ ‘M not drunk ‘m just...buzzed.”  
  
  
She sighs. “Of course you aren’t drunk, you are only buzzed. Honestly, Anthony, I don’t know if you’ve ever read a thesaurus but those two words are synonyms.”  
  
  
He doesn’t say anything.  
  
  
“I suppose you won't be driving home tonight?”  
  
  
“No.”  
  
  
“No what?” You can hear the authority in her voice.  
  
  
“No ma’am.” It’s the first time Aziraphale has ever seen Crowley look ashamed.  
  
  
“We’ll talk later when you're sober and at home. I’m glad you’re not going to drive but you are still in trouble for missing curfew and drinking outside of the house. You better be home by nine tomorrow morning.” And with that, she hangs up.  
  
  
“I disappointed her,” he whispers as he puts the phone back on its stand.  
  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
  
“She’s disappointed in me,” he says again. “I can't face her ever again. She’s so disappointed. I could feel disappointed waves. They were radio-- radius-- oh never mind! They were waving off her practically.  
  
  
“Do you mean radiating?”  
  
  
“Yes,” he snaps his fingers, “what you said.”  
  
  
“But she’s not mad, is she?”  
  
  
“She might be but Azira, what does that matter? The disappointment is worse than anger.”  
  
  
Aziraphale ponders the statement and finds Crowley is right. “You have a point there, my dear.”  
  
  
Crowley says, “Can you not call me that?”  
  
  
He almost questions why but then thinks back to their conversation hours earlier, as hard as it is with his head starting to ache, and gets his answer. “Yes, I’m sorry.”  
  
  
“You apologize a lot to someone who’s unforgivable,” Crowley murmur under his breath. Aziraphale doesn’t hear.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
By four in the morning, everyone has finally left the Device household, including Newt, and Anathema comes upstairs to her bedroom to make sure Aziraphale is still alive. She’s not let down.  
  
  
Sure, there’s a giant bile stain on her carpet and Crowley is surrounded by a puddle of water-- also on her poor carpet-- but this situation is much more favorable than any other outcome.  
  
  
She climbs over Aziraphale and lays on her own bed. It takes her barley anytime to fall asleep. When she awakens it is two hours later to the sound of Aziraphale and Crowley trying very hard not to wake her as they leave. Unfortunately, they both are idiots.  
  
  
She sits up and asks tiredly, “Before you two go do you want some aspirin?”  
  
  
As if two kids getting caught with their hand in the cookie jar the turn around to look at her. “Yes please,” Crowley says sheepishly while Aziraphale shakes his head no.  
  
  
“So,” She continues talking once they’ve all made it down to her kitchen, “What happened last night Aziraphale? I recall you didn’t drink anything, correct?”  
  
  
“No I didn’t.”  
  
  
“So what happened?” She hands Crowley two aspirins and a cup of water.  
  
  
He looks at Crowley with a plea in his eyes but Crowley jerks his head upward to take his pills. He’s on his own for this one. “I may have dabbled in opioids last night--”  
  
  
“Aziraphale!”  
  
  
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight I know it was a very bad idea, it won’t happen again.”  
  
  
“Wait,” Anathema redirects her questioning to Crowley. “Where were you?”  
  
  
He shrugs. “Drinking. In the pool. Out and about. You saw me. You know I wasn't around him.”  
  
  
“No, I mean why weren’t you with him?”  
  
  
Both he and Aziraphale wear the same uncomfortable expression.  
  
  
“Well?”  
  
  
“We had a...” Aziraphale searches for the word for a moment before starting again, “disagreement, or something of the sort. Nothing to concern yourself with.”  
  
  
She squints at the two of them. “What do you mean a disagreement?”  
  
  
“Fuck, are you always this invassive in the morning?” Snaps Crowley, unusually bitter sounding.  
  
  
Anathema, dazed, can’t do anything but look at him in surprise. “Okay, then...sorry. So, Aziraphale how do you feel?”  
  
  
He grimaces. “I think I’d have to be absurd to decide to do any type of drug again.”  
  
  
“Good.” She seems pleased with that answer. “Now if you two are done can you get out? I have to clean up the place before my parents get home tomorrow.”  
  
  
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Crowley says as he walks towards the entrance, his back hunched. His shoes are making a squishing noise as stalks off.  
  
  
Before Aziraphale can follow Anathema grabs him by the shoulder. “What did you disagree about?” He tells her the truth because he’s too exhausted from lying.  
  
  
“And you rejected him?”  
  
  
“I didn’t reject him.”  
  
  
“But you’re not willing to date him either?”  
  
  
“Things are more complicated than that,” he insists. “Not everything is black and white.”  
  
  
She lets go of him and shakes her head. “I don’t understand but okay, I respect your decision.”  
  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
  
“Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley calls from the front door, “Hurry up!”  
  
  
And so he does. But not before she says, "We'll talk later."  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
Aziraphale arrives home at 6:43. His father has been up for at least an hour by now. As he quietly enters his house his dad sits pensively in his study waiting for the perfect moment to call Aziraphale in.  
  
  
The perfect moment is when Aziraphale has gone four and a half steps up the stairs. “Son,” he says, “Please come into my office.”  
  
  
Unable to disobey he meets his father with fear in his eyes. “Yes father?”  
  
  
“Why are you so late Aziraphale coming home? I thought you would be back by perhaps eleven but instead, you arrive at almost seven. Why?”  
  
  
“I was-- I took--” He stops himself. He has to tell the truth now, he’s been caught already. “Anathema had a party, and I was there. I lost track of time sir. I didn't drink anything but I did sleep in her room.” he quickly adds, “But it wasn't sexual, I just needed a place to sleep for the night.”  
  
  
Mr. Sanctus listens and says, “It sounds like this girlfriend of yours is a bit of a rabble-rouser. You and Anathema must break-up, she’s clearly a bad influence on you. I’m not upset with you too much, I know your first love can be very exhilarating and you simply lost sight of the right path. You will not be allowed to leave the house for the next month though for any recreational activities nor will you be allowed to date again until you have shown that you are your own man and you will not be at the mercy of some girl you like.”  
  
  
Aziraphale is so stunned. He had envisioned a brutal, horrific onslaught of insults for his lack of insight followed by The Belt & Bible.  
  
  
The Belt & Bible is an age-old tradition in the Sanctus household. When you mess up gravely you are punished with a good couple of lashings with a Bible reading. Only, this punishment is a little different than most spankings as it’s done over, and over, and over again. Each time Mr. Sanctus finishes a reading he bends his children over again and the lashings continue. He claims it’s to ensure that his children know the value of the Holy Scripture and also internalize their punishment that way they’ll behave better in the future.  
  
  
In some ways, it might just work, but for all the wrong reasons.  
  
  
So Aziraphale retreats out of the office and to his room where he lays low for the rest of the day. Neither his mother or siblings ask where he was and he suspects that his father already told them but they were also told not to push. For that he's grateful.  
  
  
Crowley doesn't get off that easily. He’s banned from using his car for two weeks, he can not hang out with Aziraphale for a month, and he has to write an essay for his Mama on the increased risk of alcohol problems in youths and how dangerous addiction is.  
  
  
He can only wonder how they’d react if they knew he smoked Camels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: storiesandthyme


	12. Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry this is all over the place!  
> School started again and Junior year + playing a varsity sport is out to kick my ass!!!  
> All mistakes are mine, please tell me if u see any
> 
> * note: * in america you can lock most public bathrooms from the inside that way other ppl cant get in without kicking the door down or having a key.

The next week after the party is uncomfortable. They try very hard to pretend that everything is normal between them but it’s clear that it isn’t. Aziraphale spends more time than ever in the library as a means to avoid Crowley and Crowley, unable to bare actually seeking out Aziraphale, makes no effort to speak with him.

He has already laid out his emotions once and been rejected, he couldn’t be careless with showing any more. He couldn’t yearn. He couldn’t want. Not out in public anymore at least. That’s what got him in this issue in the first place. So Crowley spends more time with himself, alone, at his house.

This works well as he is still grounded and so him not going anywhere pleases both mothers for the first week. However, during the middle of the second week Mom begins to frett.

“Do you think we were too hard on him,” she asks her partner while watching t.v. In the background plays the _Cheers_ theme.

“No.”

“Are you sure? He seems so...quiet lately.”

“Finally,” Mama says without concern. “Boys are so loud, especially our boy, it’s nice that he’s being silent for a change.”

Mom frowns. “Hun, I am being serious here.

Mama turns to look at her partner. 

“Gina,” Mom warns. “Don’t play. I think there’s something wrong.”

“Well what do you want us to do? We aren’t mind readers, he has to tell us what’s wrong.”

“I’m going to ask him,” she decides.

“He won’t tell you.”

“It’s a start.”

Mama doesn’t reply.

At the end of the third week, as Thanksgiving spirit makes its way into town, Mama begins to worry as well. This time the women are up watching the _Fresh Prince of Bel Air_ when they speak again.

“I think you’re right.”

Mom asks, “About?”

“Anthony.”

“Oh, so now you're worried?”

Mama ignores the tone. “He’s been blowing me off when I ask him to help in the garden and his personal plants have seen better days.”

She agrees as she thinks to how wilted some of his flowers look. “Yes they have. He also wouldn't tell me what was wrong when I asked. Told me it wasn't my business and then said a few choice words.”

Looking affronted Mama says, “He’s never been that rude.”

“I think he's going through something, something he feels as if he can't talk to us about.”

The laugh track from the _Fresh Prince of Bel Air_ plays after Will Smith says something and Mom quickly turns on the television as Mama scowls in the object’s direction.

“He used to talk to us about everything,” she reminisces as she puts down the remote.

“It's not like him to keep secrets from us. This must be something very important.”

“Or illegal…”

“If it was illegal he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret from us. He still thinks we don't know he smokes cigarettes.”

“You've got a point there. But what could be plaguing him? We know practically everything that’s going on in his life, surely we should be able to figure it out.”

“Maybe we need to ask together, like as an undivided front showing that the two of use are legitimately troubled by his standoffish behavior and we really are just here to help.”

Nodding in agreement Mom says, “Oh yes, that’s a great idea! Oh hun, you’re a genius you know that?”

“Of course I am. So let’s get planning, yeah?”

~~~

The day before Thanksgiving break Crowley is in a school bathroom, minding his own business, washing his hands when someone comes in without a word and locks the bathroom’s door. Obviously alarmed he says, “Hey! What the bloody hell?”

When whoever is in here with him doesn’t respond he asks again, more aggressively. A frightened squawk comes out of the person and he realizes it’s Aziraphale.

“Az, what are you doing?”

He lets out a rather nervous chuckle and peaks around the corner to show his face. His wispy light blond hair is a tad disheveled and he has dark bags under his eyes. He looks as if he hasn’t slept well in weeks. “It seems you’ll call me anything but angel now-a-days, won’t you?”

Crowley gives him a blank stare as he grinds his teeth together, biting back a scream. “What do you want?”

“You won’t talk to me,” he starts, “and I don’t like it. You keep avoiding me, you apparently aren’t talking to Anathema either and she heard from whoever she hears things from that you aren’t even talking to that strange gothic kid.”

“Her name’s Beelzebub,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry dear?

“What did I say about that nick-name?”

“I--” Aziraphale has the decency to seem embarrassed. “My apologizes.”

“Y’know,” Crowley puts his hands in his pockets, “it’s not like you tried to find me either.”

“Oh, how could I? It seemed like no matter where I went you weren't there! Eventually I simply gave up.”

“Gave up,” Crowley scoffs. “You practically go straight to the library whenever we don't have class. Lunch time? Library. After school? Library. It’s always the library, never anywhere else.”

“It's a safe place for me,” Aziraphale says defensively. “And how would even know where I go, anyhow? Have you been stalking me?”

Crowley rolls his eyes but Aziraphale can’t see the action. “Stalking you? Really? Are you looking to paint me as the bad guy here?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to think!?”

“I’ve been having someone else watch out for you,” Crowley says as if that's better.

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Shadwell makes an okay spy.”

“You got the weird P.E. teacher to spy on me? Why on God's green earth would you do that!?”

“Because you weren't talking to me, duh.”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale says, “you are a mad-man.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you actually been having Mr. Shadwell watch me?”

“No, but the old creep did offer to stalk you for a price. Called himself a witchfinder, and he claimed he could find anyone or anything-- regardless of witch status. I think he’s insane though ‘cause after that he asked how many niples you had.”

Aziraphale scrunches his face up.

“I know your habits and for a while I went searching for you too, in secret though. I didn't want you to ever find me. I saw you in the library a couple of times, figured out your pattern.”

“If you wished to find me why didn’t you speak to me?”

Crowley shrugs. “What am I supposed to say?”

Opening his mouth to say something Aziraphale makes a soft noise of contemplation. After a moment of thought he settles on, “I suppose anything. You could have said anything.”

“Would you have listened?”

“Of course I would have,” he says with such certainty that it hurts.

Slumping down to the cold tile floor Crowley groans into his hands. “Uhg, you’re too good to me, you know that? Anybody else would have left me. Anybody else would have freaked out or ran away or at the very least not be here right now, trapping me in a bathroom just to talk.”

“I’m not anybody else,” Aziraphale kneels next to him. “I’m your best friend, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do your eyes look like,” Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s glasses and takes them off without any opposition, “this?”

“Happened in the womb or something like that.” Crowley is used to people asking questions about his eyes. That’s just another reason why he wore glasses, so he wouldn’t be bombarded all the time. “It’s called Coloboma. I know, it’s ugly looking...”

“Oh,” he says nods rapt but then shakes his head ‘no’. “I think they’re beautiful, not ugly.”

Crowley snorts and turns his head away from the other as his face heats up for a moment. “You say things like that and then wonder why I’m in love with you.”

“You--” Aziraphale’s entire face flashes a bright red. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Okay.”

The two sit on the floor for a while before Aziraphale speaks up again. “Can we go back to normal?”

“What’s normal?”

“We spend time together,” he sighs with desire. “We talk again. We walk together. We do all the things we used to do and there is no more awkwardness.” At a softer, barely audible volume he continues with, “You might even let me call you dear again.”

With honestly Crowley says painfully slow, as if it will make the removal of the bandage hurt less, “No, I doubt it. I don’t think we’ll ever be normal again. Not like that, not for a long time at least.” As Aziraphale frowns he says, “We can still talk, hang out, do all that stuff but I need more time. I need more distance I can’t just-- I--” He fumbles over his words hopelessly and eventually gives up. “Let’s talk about anything else, please?”

Aziraphale complies. “Do you even have a sister?”

“Hm?”

“You told me you had a sister. I was thinking about it, and I don’t think you truly have a sister. In fact, I think that was you.”

“Oh, yeah,” he confirms as he thinks back to what Aziraphale is mentioning. “That was me, sorry. I wasn’t ready to tell you then.”

“No, no, that’s fair. I understand.”

“Can I ask you something? After all you’ve already asked me two things.”

Hesitantly he says, “Alright.”

“You said you weren’t gay but you also couldn’t let anyone know you liked men. What does that mean?”

Aziraphale’s fight or flight instinct kick in and he leaps up on his feet ready to run out when he stops himself. An anxious mess he forces himself to answer Crowley. “I like men.” He plays with his fingers as he takes a sharp breath. “And boys. I like them.” He’s said words similar to these to himself before, but only when he was alone under the cover of night. And when he had said them he was too young to fully understand what that meant and what kind of connotations they might have.

“But I’m not gay because I’d have to act on those feelings, okay?”

Biting his tongue Crowley does everything in his power to not explain that that isn’t how it works. He wills himself to be quiet. “Okay.”

The bells rings signifying the end of the school day and Crowley looks up at Aziraphale. “See you after break?”

“Sure Crowley, we’ll talk after break.” He then walks to unlock the door and leaves.

Crowley tries to wrap his mind around the encounter as he sits alone on the floor. He recounts what just happened over and over again until he’s gone and made himself dizzy.

When he gets home he can sense something is off. Firstly, both his mothers are home, something that is never the case. Secondly, they are both sitting at the kitchen table with their hands folded. And thirdly, they were clearly talking before he came in because they both make the same cut-off face as he walks in and the woman's eyes focus on him.

“Anthony,” Mom begins with a signature motherly tone, “your Mama and I are worried and you won't talk to us.”

Impassively he blinks at the two of them.

“Please take a seat.” He does but slowly.

Mama says, “Are you willing to tell us now or are we going to have to play a round of twenty-one questions?”

He doesn't say anything. He continues to look at them with little emotion. Inside his head he's attempting to figure out a way to get out of this. He can say without a shadow of a doubt that he would rather die than have this chat.

“Twenty-one questions it is,” Mom mutters. “First off, did we do anything, other than rightfully punish you for your lack of judgment on Halloween night, that led to your current state?”

Crowley sighs. “No, you didn't do anything. I’m fine, it's all fine.”

“Bullshit,”

Mom reaches across the table to grab Crowley’s hand but he pulls them back and puts them in his lap as she moves to close the distance. “Come on Anthony, work with us here,” She pleads. “You won't talk to us, you won’t yell at your care of your plants, you don't even try and sneak off to talk to Aziraphale-- or anyone else for that matter! It's starting to scare us.”

He snarls like a caged animal. “Would you prefer I act out?"

“That’s not what she meant,” Mama glares, “and you know it. We can’t help you if you won’t let us help you.”

“I don’t need help,” He insist and raises from the table. “Thanks for staging this-- what? Intervention? But I’m fine.” Like the moody teenager he is he stalks off to his bedroom leaving his mothers in a stunned silence.

A beat passes and Mama says sarcastically, “That went well, didn’t it Alice?” Mom rubs her temples aggressively and doesn’t dignify her partner with an answer. Mama stands up from the table and follows her son only to find his door is locked when she tries to enter.There is a strict no locked door rule in this house. There are very few rules in the Crowley household but this is one of the big ones.

“Anthony James Crowley if you don’t unlock this door there will be serious consequences young man!”

“Fuck off,” calls from the otherside of the door.

Mom gasps and Mama’s face contorts into and ugly grimace. “Excuse me?”

“ I-- shit sorry--”

“Listen very carefully to my words,” She hisses in a low, treacherous voice. “Not even God herself will be able to help you if you don’t get out here and stop acting like a little shit. You have worried your poor mother half to death over your little mood and it’s beyond disrespectful that this is how you deal with people who love and care for you showing concern. Now get out here and apologize to her.”

Faster than humanly possible he unlocks his bedroom and meets Mama face-to-face. “I’m sorry.”

“I said apologize to her.”

He hurries to his mother and does just that with true apologetic words.

“Now,” Mom says, “do you want to tell us what's wrong?”

“No, not really.”

Mama shakes her head. “It wasn’t a question. What’s going on kid?”

Crowley winces as he digs deep within himself, pushing past the embarrassment and shame he feels, and recounts what happened three weeks ago at the party. As he tells his parents their faces rise with pride at how brave he was and then fall with pity. The three of them stay still in the heavy silence for what seems like forever before Mama says something.

“I’m sorry Anthony, I know you're hurting right now but it will get better.”

“I don't want it to get better,” He says. “I want it to go back to how it was. I want him to never know I even liked him. I want to go back in time and just stay home Halloween night.”

Mother's, with their handiness and resourcefulness, can fix a lot of things, but a broken heart isn't one. So all they can do for Crowley at this time his hug him and feed him reassurance that it will get better.

And that's what they do.


	13. CCC TIme (Church, Car & Crowley Time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight on how church is run and the Bentley needs a tune up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this chapter isn't the highest quality but I am really trying to do my best! I hope you enjoy it all the same!  
> be sure to leave a comment, kudos, concern, and/or a keysmash!

For Aziraphale, Thanksgiving went well enough. Some of his family-- but not all as all came for Christmas every single year-- had come home to spend the holiday with him and that was pleasant. Gabriel came home as well but he was often out of the house. Where he was going no one knew.

He ate his mother's enchanting turkey, stuffing, and homemade cranberry sauce with much delight as his siblings who had made it home talked greatly about what they were doing with their lives.

He zoned out for most of the conversation though, finding he wasn't all that interested in what other people were doing. When he was finally asked a question he replied curtly. The more he sat in their company the more he found himself growing in contempt.

Every little thing bothered him. From the way, a sibling would talk to how his father would scoff his disdain worsened.

He had never felt this way. This was a new and uninvited sensation. He was used to loving his family unconditionally but what he was feeling was the direct opposite of love. His presumably irrational irritation continued throughout the whole weekend and when it was time to go back to school he nearly shouted with glee. The prospect of staying with his family had driven him mad.

~~~

“Something weird happened to me,” Aziraphale says and Anathema raises a brow.

It’s the first Friday of December and the two are in the town’s library studying after school because neither of them has a babysitting gig tonight. 

“Oh?”

“I think,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “I hate my family.”

She nods understandingly. “I hate them too.”

“Anathema!”

“What?”

He snaps. “This is unheard of, that's what! I’ve never felt such a lack of respect for my family before and it's not acceptable. Take yesterday for example: my father was practicing his sermon for this weekend about marriage yesterday and afterward, he told me it was time to go out and find another young woman so that I could settle down sooner rather than later. And you know what I wanted to tell him?”

“What?” She has never seen Aziraphale so worked up before and she's intrigued.

With a ghastly expression, he says, “I wanted to tell him that any marriage that was approved by him wasn't my ideal and that I’d rather die than marry anyone he liked because that means they would be very much like him.”

Thoroughly impressed Anathema lets out a laugh. “Really? That's hilarious! What did he say?”

“No, no that's what I wanted to say. What I actually told him was ‘yes sir.’”

“Well, then that is a lot less funny. How long are you going to be an underling to your dad? It's completely stunting your growth as a person.”

“You're just saying that. I’m growing into my own perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Anathema throws a curveball. “You are sacrificing your own happiness to uphold an image for your father.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s face runs red as he moves to cover himself up with his hands. Like a heat flash, he feels as if he's burning up at the very idea of what Anathema is implying. “Ms. Device, please don't.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“Please don't,” he repeats weakly. “I refuse to have this conversation anymore.”

“Aziraphale, I love you but this is getting out of hand. You blush like a schoolgirl at the mention of his name. You like him. You know you like him. Why are you letting your father stop you?”

“It’s not just my dad. It's my whole family. And as I told you and Crowley: I can't go against what the want for me. They only wish the best and to do anything less on my part is just rude.”

With an exasperated sigh, she shifts her attention back to the material they are studying signifying the end of the conversation.

~~~

Because the church was unable to hold Youth Group in November due to the Thanksgiving holiday November’s Youth Group is held on the first Sunday of December.

Gabriel is still home and ready to host. The Word’s topic today was, unsurprisingly, marriage and now he is answering questions about the topic from the Question Box.

One reads: ‘Why can't my uncle's get married?’

Gabriel, not expecting such a question, takes a breath and powers through it. He says the typical nonsense and Pepper, who everyone knows wrote the question, stares unsatisfied at him. However, the question has been answered so she's wise enough to not press.

The next piece of paper he pulls out isn't much better though. Judging by the messy cursive handwriting and the puppy doodles it's one Adam wrote.

‘If you don't have a gender can you still get married? And who do you get married to insure make sure God still loves you?’

Looking over the question again Gabriel makes a face. He shares the scrap of paper with Aziraphale whose eyes widen in surprise. Aziraphale has never thought of that but now that it's been brought to his attention he’s curious.

The brothers formulate a response and Gabriel delivers it with a stagnant, wide-mouthed, and clearly forced grin. “You can't be genderless,” he says and Aziraphale visibly winces because of course he doesn't really believe that but it will make his family happy so that's what he suggested. “You can not be genderless. You are either male or female and you marry the opposite sex. Sex and gender are the same things as well. So if, in theory, you are genderless then marriage isn't for you because marriage is between a male and a female.”

Brian raises his hand suddenly.

“Yes?” Aziraphale calls on him.

“What if I don't want to get married?”

Aziraphale looks at him as if he'd grown another head. “Why wouldn't you want to get married? It’s an unbreakable union between two people-- a man and a woman.”

“I dunno,” Brian shrugs, “seems like a hassle.”

“Yes,” says Adam, “I agree. Seems like a hassle.”

“Well,” Aziraphale starts, “I should think everyone should strive to be married. Don't you want to live and love someone forever for the rest of your life? Wouldn't it be nice to wake up and live with your best friend?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “But I don't need marriage to do that! I can just move in with my partner!” Aziraphale heavily notes how she did not say ‘boyfriend.’

Gabriel steps in. “No cohabitation without marriage could lead to lust.” Pepper sticks her tongue out. “You must avoid it at all cost if you aren't married.”

“What is lust anyway?” Pepper rolls her eyes and asks. “And do married people have lust or does that go away?”

Gabriel oddly enough lights up at that question. “Yes, that’s a very good question and the answer is no. Lust doesn’t go away after you get married but it does subside. And what is lust? Well, it’s sexual desire either outside of marriage or outside of love. Does that answer your questions?”

She nods but still wears an unimpressed look.

Wensleydale then intuitively asks if either Gabriel or Aziraphale are planning on marrying anytime soon.

Gabriel shakes his head ‘no.’ “I haven't got a girlfriend to marry.”

“What about you Aziraphale?”

“Haven’t a girl for me either,” he says a little too cheerfully.

He receives a side-ways glance of confusion from Gabriel and realizes no one told his oldest brother that he and Anathema ‘broke-up.’ After Youth Group he makes sure to inform him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry little brother.”

Too quick for comfort he says happily, “Oh, don’t be--” but then cuts himself off. “What I meant to say was we weren’t really compatible. She wasn’t the type of girl I was looking for.”

“Nonetheless I’m sorry.”

They don’t talk anymore about relationships and for that Aziraphale is thankful. Kindly he offers to help close up the church that way his brother can get back on the road for school and to his surprise, Gabriel takes him up on the offer. After he locks the doors to the church he walks back home only to be interrupted by a red-headed boy standing at the edge of his street corner.

“...Crowley?”

At the mention of his name the boy perks up. “Hey, Zira!” He seems nervous as he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, are you doing anything right now?”

Suspicious he says, “No.”

With relief, he sighs. “Great! I know we aren’t really on speaking terms--”

“You decided that,” Aziraphale says passive-aggressively.

He grumbles and rubs his neck a little more aggressively. “Fine. I know I said we weren’t on good terms because of my-- ngk-- feelings...but I need your help.”

“Really Crowley,” Aziraphale exclaims with exasperation. “You come to bother me on the day of the Lord because you need something? Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to work on Sundays?”

“It’ll only take you a second! I promise it’s nothing too taxing I just need a little help with Bentley.”

Aziraphale crosses his arms. “I’m not a mechanic.”

“I just need you to hand me tools and shit like that, okay? I swear it won’t take more than fifteen minutes, please? I’m begging you here, you have no idea how demeaning this is for me.”

Without any attempt to hide his sass he says, “Can’t a powerful occultist like yourself just magic Bentley into tip-top shape?”

Crowley growls, seemingly offended. “You’re a right bastard you know that?”

With the hurt on his counterparts face Aziraphale softens. “Oh my, I’m sorry this is rather important isn’t it?” Crowley stiffly nods, unable to meet his eye. “Of course, you wouldn’t come to me if it wasn’t. I deeply apologize Crowley, I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”

He raises a brow. “So you’ll help?”

“Of course I will, dear.” Crowley doesn’t bother correcting him this time.

When they manage to make it to the tiny cottage on the other side of town Crowley opens up his garage to reveal Bentley with her wheels off and her carriage elevated. Hopping onto the creeper Crowley says, “All my tools are in that black snake-skin looking toolbox near my welding mask. Hand me the Socket Wrench when you can.” And with that, he rolls himself underneath the car to tinker with something else.

Aziraphale does as instructed. “Should you be wearing something to protect your face?”

“Hm?” Crowley’s voice is muffled underneath the car.

“Your face. Won’t it get damaged? Those sunglasses can’t protect you much, can they?”

“Oh. No, I know what I’m doing down here.” He chucks the wrench out to the standing teenager’s feet. “Okay now hand me an 8mm torque wrench, some 8mm Lugnuts, and tell me about your holiday.”

“A what?”

“Torque wrenches are skinny things with a large hole at the tip. Mine’s black with some silver. Lugnuts are easy enough for you to find. I believe in you.”

Confused but determined Aziraphale shuffles through the toolbox for a moment and then retrieves what he needs and hands it to Crowley.

“Ah, perfect. Now go on and tell me about your Thanksgiving, I haven’t heard anything from you in a week and I’m dying to know all the juicy details.”

“Oh yes, my life is simply the juiciest, as they say.” He shrugs, not that the other can see him. “I didn’t do anything terribly exciting. Some of my siblings came home, we ate an enormous meal, we said prayers for all we were thankful for, it was standard in my opinion.”

“Siblings came home? Sounds,” Crowley tightens a nut with the wrench and grunts out the word, “awful.”

“Yes, I did find myself becoming a tad annoyed with their company. But they are family, what can you do?”

Crowley suggests, “Not talk to them?” 

Appalled by the very idea he shouts, “No! They’re family, you can’t just ignore them! That’s rude!”

“Really? S’what I do.”

“With who?” Aziraphale asks skeptically. “You get along so well with your mothers.”

“Nah, I love Mom and Mama but fuck my dear old dad and his bitch of a wife. The dude is a backward stick in the mud who spends most of his time wailing about how he failed as a parent.”

“Failed? How so?”

“I’m a ragging queer, Zira.” Crowley tightens another nut as Aziraphale winces at the language. “Biggest failure known to man apparently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

An uneasy silence floats between them but the blond is unable to think of anything to fill the void as he tries very hard to not feel nauseous at the thought of Crowley’s father and Crowley is hard at work, not even noticing the shift in the atmosphere.

Finally, a question pops into his head and he spits it out. “So did you have to see him recently or…?”

“Yeah. I flew out to London to see him. The damn man asked me a bunch of invasive questions, made me eat Thanksgiving dinner with him, we basically tried the whole family thing again. Still no success. I’m telling you, there’s a reason the whole nuclear family thing went to shit with us. I don’t know why he still tries.”

Avoiding the obvious daddy issues Aziraphale thinks aloud, “I wasn’t aware they celebrated Thanksgiving in the United Kingdom.”

“They don’t. He just made an excuse to see me and my mom has a soft spot for the man, married him at any rate, so she let him take me away for fall break and I was miserable.”

Aziraphale huffs to himself. “I don’t know how to feel about your father.”

“Join the club-- wait why are you conflicted here?”

“Well,” he shyly starts as if embarrassed, “you sound like you really don’t like him and he sounds like a bigot but your mom likes him right? So he can’t be all bad, right?”

“She loves him,” He corrects and rolls himself back into Aziraphale's view. It’s odd-looking up at him, he looks even more like an angel sent to deliver a message on behalf of God. “She loves Cain, loves him to bits. He’s not a bigot he’s just not the most open-minded either. He thinks I’ll change my mind at some point about being bisexual and trans. I won’t. Again, they were married for a good eight years. You don’t spend that long with someone if you don’t love them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The seven-year itch is a thing,” Crowley says plainly. “And let’s be real, judging by today's divorce rates it’s more like the three-year itch by now.”

“You’re very cynical romantic today,” Aziraphale notes. He doesn’t like it. 

Crowley ignores his statement. “Put these wrenches back in the box would you?”

And he does as instructed and tries again. “Is cynicism the new normal for you?”

“It might be, is that an issue?”

With a harumph, he doesn’t reply.

“Alright,” Crowley says, “time to put the wheels back on but we don't have to do it now, I think you're over your fifteen minutes. We’re all good down here though so if you need to you can go."

He doesn't take off right away like Crowleu expects him to. He stays put and asks, “What did you do?”

“I tightened my darling girl’s undercarriage. I don’t trust those blasted ‘vintage’ mechanics, they put no pride in their work, and a normal mechanic wouldn’t even know what to use on an old beauty like her.”

“You really care about Bentley,” Aziraphale smiles at the care Crowley puts into his beloved car.

“Of course I do,” He scoffs. “I told you already, she’s my pride and joy.”

“You know, you never did tell me why her model was your favorite.”

Crowley lowers his sunglasses. “Are you asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Fine.” He takes off the glasses and holds them. “My dad is a bit of a gearhead. Loves cars, old, new, doesn't matter. I told you we don’t get along, not as we should anyway, but the first time I felt like I really understood him was when I was seven. We were at a car show somewhere in the midwestern States and I saw this type of Bentley and fell in love. I was a cute kid back then so the car owner even let me touch the thing with my grubby child fingers.”

Aziraphale burst out laughing at the description. Crowley isn’t one for a mess, sure he’s not completely sterile like Aziraphale but the thought of him having anything close to grubby hands is ridiculous. “So that’s why?”

“Yeah, were you expecting more?”

“No, no that’s perfect. Perfectly you.”

At that Crowley’s genuine, somewhat crooked looking smile appears and his glasses return. “Thanks for helping me. You’re the only person I could trust with tuning her up.”

“I’m glad you trust me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

Aziraphale raises his brows and then lowers them back down. “I just figured...I don't know. I just thought a lot of things after our last talk and I suppose I had the impression that we weren't ever going to go back to the way things were.”

“I told you I just need time,” Crowley says in a hard but not unkind tone. “I don't want to push you away, that's not my goal here. I just want to get over you.”

With Confidence Aziraphale says, “You will.”

“I will,” Crowley repeats. “Hey, want to come in for lunch? It’s almost noon.”

“I wouldn't want to impose--”

“You wouldn’t. I haven’t got anything to do.” He opens the garage’s door into the house. “After you.”

“Well then, I don’t mind if I do come in for lunch,” he says with a hungry grin as he’s led inside by Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: storiesandthyme  
> be sure to leave a comment, kudos, concern, and/or a keysmash!  
> (also I just watched the Steven universe movie in my animation class and i'm...speechless oml it was so well-done)


	14. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley misses school bc he's a good car owner and gets asked abt the future.   
> Aziraphale's father wants answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta read! tell me of my mistakes!!!!

The first snow fell the second Monday of December and to Crowley’s dismay school wasn’t canceled. Like any good vintage car driver, he understood that driving the Bentley in this weather was less than appropriate so he was forced to walk to school.

He slipped and skid himself down to school only to find the doors locked. He was late. Shit. He must have miscalculated how long it would take him to walk to school and now he was considered skipping unless he came in with a doctors note. 

He weighed his options: either go in now without a doctors note and face the consequences or have his Mother forge a note for him to bring when he shows up tomorrow.

It’s clear what he’ll choose.

He begins his walk home and the snow falls with a little more urgency and by the time he’s made it back to his front door, it seems like a blizzard was on its way. Turning on the news network he got confirmation that the snow had no plans of slowing down and was going to be over seven inches by the end of the day. The county had calls it a freak storm and a county official even claims it was starting to get dangerous on the road.

Briefly, his mind wonders what that means for people at government buildings, including school but then remembers it doesn't matter because he’s not there. After a while he falls asleep on his couch only to wake up again to the sound of his mother cursing loudly as she comes in through the front door.

“...Damn Icey ass porch …”

He blinks his eyes open a few times. “Mom? Is that you?”

“Anthony what are you doing here,” she asks as she steps into the living room. Snow dust her coat and her hair is damp.

He doesn't answer the question because let’s be real, when does he ever? “What time is it?”

“One-thirty in the afternoon. Last I checked the school didn’t get out until two-ten.”

“You’re correct, mother of mine.”

“So why are you here?”

He gives a noncommittal shrug. “I was late getting to school and I figured I might as well just skip, y’know?”

She lets her head fall to the side in defeat. “I don’t understand you sometimes Anthony. You’re a bright kid, taking nearly AP everything and excelling, yet you still try and find every opportunity to skip. Why?”

“Academia is pretentious,” he states matter-of-factly and then yawns. It would seem he’s still sleepy.

“Mama was a professor once before she got into the non-profit side of her field.”

“I know, I know. Academia is still pretentious and obnoxious.”

She sighs. “You are a junior this year.”

With attitude, he says, “As if I could forget.”

“You know that no matter what you do Mama and I will support you, but I need to know that you have some sort of direction for your life. You have a future Anthony, I promise you that.”

He tenses as she speaks. He didn’t realize he was so transparent. Had he known that others could see just how aimless he was in life he would at least have pretended he had his shit together more. Just as he opens his mouth to speak the home phone rings. Saved by the bell.

“Hello,” his mother picks up the phone because she’s closest, “this is the Crowley household. How can I help you?” Whoever is on the other line says something Crowley can’t hear. “Oh really? You all are calling it this early?” She covers the receiver and pulls her face away from the phone.

“Looks like school’s canceled for tomorrow kiddo,” she says and then puts the phone back on her ear. “Is that all? No? Oh yes, Anthony has the flu, that’s why he wasn’t in any of his classes today.” She stares at her son with a knowing look. “He’s terribly ill but I expect him to be better soon don’t worry.” She then hangs up.

Crowley smiles, “Aw mom, you lied for me.”

“Shhh, I didn’t lie I stretched the truth. You look pale, and paleness is a sign of the flu you know. I’m a nurse, I know these things.”

“Right.”

The conversation ends and she moves to her room to put her work stuff up and change into more comfortable attire. Crowley takes a moment to take what she said to heart. He knew he didn’t have any future plans, hell he didn’t actually think he’d get this far in life, but his grades were amazing and he knew with his ‘worldly’ life-experience of living in another country he could get into any American College he wanted so it’s not as if he didn’t have options. No, what he lacked was an opinion. 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have interests because he did. He loved gardening, maybe he could be a botanist, or a florist, or even an herbalist. He enjoyed the stars as well, though that was even less well-known than his love for plants. But what he didn’t have was a direction. He couldn’t just choose something. He was indecisive, impulsive, and filled with regrets.

The idea of being stuck in a career he would later hate made his skin prickle with anxiety. So he stops thinking about it and falls back asleep on his couch.

~~~

It takes Aziraphale nearly an hour to get home from school, that’s how bad the snow is. His other siblings all got rides home from friends or parents of friends but he was stuck at school and forced to trudge his way through the winter hellscape.

The day had been, for lack of a better word, shit. Crowley never showed up, Anathema was out today on a field trip for her Chemistry class, and Newt and Aziraphale didn’t talk at all, so he was alone the entirety of the day. 

Once he finally does get home his mother tells him that school will be canceled tomorrow and so he can rest if he’d like. She also says food will be ready at five-thirty but suddenly he doesn’t feel hungry.

It’s not that he’ll miss school for the one day that he’ll be out it’s just that this means he’ll be forced to spend all day with his mother. He hasn’t ever been too close with her but lately, they’ve drifted even further apart due to his little self-discovery of sexuality. She’s not vocal-- after all a good woman is better seen not heard according to her-- but she clearly has disdain for queer people just as her husband does.

He feels as if he’s been carrying a weight on his shoulders since the Halloween party. Since then every move he makes, every step he takes, has been carefully calculated when he’s around his family as to not arise skepticism in him. He fears they can see what kind of horrible, sinful things he wants through his actions so he’s been so stiff around them only causing his family to be more suspicious.

Luckily he’s always been able to shelter himself from their unwanted glances and questions under the guise of school work but without a day of school, he’ll be defenseless.

Mrs. Sanctus secretly has always suspected that Aziraphale was never straight but never rose the question up with him or Mr. Sanctus simply because she’d rather not deal with the drama of it all. She thought maybe if she ignored it, it would go away. It has yet to go away.

The night goes on, Aziraphale does his homework, he avoids his parents and siblings, and eventually, he retires to his bed. When morning does come he sleeps in for as late as anyone will let him which is only until eight but it feels divine compared to when he usually is forced up.

Zerachiel stands over him when he awakens. She has a hand on his shoulder and says, “Wake up sleepy head, it’s past seven-thirty, you’re basically being lazy at this point.”

“Uhg,” he mumbles intelligently. “We don’t have school, why do I have to get up?”

“Mom called you down, she has to ask you something.”

That causes him to spring upwards. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “but she’s waiting downstairs so you best get going.” And that he does. Clamoring out of bed he makes sure his tartan pajama top is buttoned properly and his pants are center to his waist before bounding down the steps because he has to look semi-presentable at least.

Standing over the stove-top making scrambled eggs Mrs. Sanctus looks up and smiles without the action reaching her eyes. “Good morning Son, how did you sleep?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale says. “Did you call me?”

“Yes I did. I wanted to ask you what I should make for Christmas dinner.”

She does this every year because Aziraphale is the only one of her children to actually enjoy food and the cooking process immensely. He in turn enjoys advising her. It makes him feel helpful and wanted. “Oh right. I have some ideas, yes. You know how you always make ham correct?”

“Of course, it’s a holiday staple.”

Feeling adventurous he asks, “What if we went with an animal-less course this year?”

She blinks and a wide, unnatural and perplexed smile spreads upon her face. “What?”

He begins to regret being so bold. “It’s nothing, I just heard that meat and other animal products were poor for your cholesterol and we always have a three-course Christmas Dinner so what’s the harm in having an all-green appetizer or dessert?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she sneers, uncharacteristically forming a face that could be called something vaguely ugly. “Your father would hate it. And what kind of person doesn’t eat things made by animals? Vegetarians? There aren’t any in this family and I hope to never have any. They are so picky and they’re high and mighty too,” she huffs sounding almost whiny. 

“It was just a suggestion…” he clasps his hands together nervously. “And they are called vegans, not vegetarians. You would know that if you bothered to listen to other world-views.”

Some emotions Aziraphale can’t place flashes across her face. “What? Aziraphale, son, what has gotten into you? You used to be so obedient and now you--”

“Obedient,” he repeats, his voice rising from its usual soft demeanor. “That’s the thought that comes to mind when I voice my opinion? After you asked for it? That I’m being disobedient?”

“Aziraphale,” she starts, “you are being ridiculous--”

“I’m not just something that you can control mother,” he spits with venom leaking onto the last word. “You don’t control me, you have no power over me.” And then he remembers himself. As if a switch has been flipped he reverts to what he knows he should be. “Mother I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate of me. I should have never raised my voice like that.”

Her jaw shifts delicately as she comprehends what just happened. “You sounded like your father for a moment.” He frowns at that. “Chin up, at least you’ve grown a spine. I don’t know where that comment about other world-views came from-- no actually I do know. It came from that Anathema girl, right? I know you miss your little girlfriend but taking it out on me will never get her back. You and I are the same sons, we have one over-ruling force. Our world-view comes from one source.”

Aziraphale thinks she’ll say, God. Instead, she says, “Your father,” and his blood runs colder than the snow settling on his lawn.

“And you know where he gets that view from? God. Why would God give us animals if not to eat? Why would we starve ourselves of nutrients for an earthly fad diet? We are people of God, earthly things don’t matter in the end Aziraphale. You understand that right?”

“Of course mother.”

She looks back down at the eggs and says, “Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph they’ve burned.” With a tired sigh, she throws the pan’s contents away in the garbage. “We’ll talk later but right now I need to re-make part of breakfast so if you’d please go find something to occupy your time with I’d be delighted.”

“Yes mother,” he says and heads back to his room. The rest of the day he spends trying not to offend anyone by staying silent. It's difficult but he doesn't interact with anyone besides what is necessary. He prays that his mother won't mention what happened to his father, he can only imagine the consequences.

  
  
  


~~~

Crowley is bored about half-way through his first official snow day. Noon hits and he realizes being home-alone sucks. So like any teenager who was bored he tries to go out and make some trouble. But then the cold all-but knocks him back as he opens the door and he slams it closed. 

On to plan number two: calling a friend. He dials Beelzebub only for her not to pick up. Damn. So he calls his next friend, Mama. Sure, he just saw her a few hours ago but he’s bored as we’ve already established and he needs entertainment. Besides, she’s most definitely on lunch break right now.

She picks up before the first ring is finished. “What are doing son?”

“I miss you.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, “you’re lucky I'm on lunch break right now. What do you want?”

Crowley thinks. He wants a lot of things right now honestly. “I don’t know,” he settles on, “but I need some entertainment.”

“Watch t.v.”

“No, already did that.”

“Listen to some music?”

“Already went through all my favorite Queen songs.”

“Really,” she says as if she’s legitimately surprised but he knows she isn’t. “Well then want to talk about your future?”

He audibly wretches. “Gross no. I’m hanging up now,” he says and does move to put down the phone but then Mama calmly says, “Don’t you dare.” And so it’s right back to his ear.

“Your mother told me you ran away from her yesterday when she asked you about your plans for college. Why’s that?”

“I didn’t run away--”

“Metaphorically,” she tells him with a roll of the eyes that Crowley can practically hear. “Why won’t you tell us your plans? It’s okay if you don’t have any, we can generate some ideas together, but you avoiding the conversation won’t solve anything.”

“Give me a week.”

“For?”

Crowley says, “In a week I’ll write down all my ideas, everything. In a week we can talk but not today and definitely not over the phone while you’re at work.”

She tsks. “This better not be another attempt at dismissing me or avoidance.”

“It’s not,” Crowley promises, “really just give me a week.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she says.

“I’m sure you will.”

The sound of a door open signifies that their talk is cut short. “Goodbye, Anthony someone just stepped into my office.”

“Bye Mama.”

“Oh and one more thing!”

“What?”

“Shovel the drive-way alright?”

He hangs up and groans but of course he’ll do it.

~~~

When Mr. Sanctus comes back home from his long day of work he’s in a sour mood. Work was stressful, his children did a horrible job shoveling the driveway, and his car needs an oil change. Really, any reasonable person would be in a bad mood at this point. After dinner, his wife pulls him to the side to tell him of his son's outbursts. He looks less than thrilled to deal with an insolent child.

Under his breath, but not quite enough, he says, “If you had raised him better he wouldn't be acting out now.”

She scowls briefly. “I think that if you hadn't been so busy praising Gabriel he wouldn't be like this.”

“No one asked what you thought.”

“You are being horrible right now.”

“Yes,” he agrees harshly, “one tends to be when you’ve raised a pansy of a son. He doesn't play sports, he doesn't make noise, he doesn't get dirty, he’s nothing like what a boy ‘ought to be.”

“You can’t blame me for that now can you?”

“If you hadn't stressed the importance of manners he’s at least act like a boy.”

“Oh pardon me,” she seethes, her eyes narrowing. “I didn't realize I ruined your boy with my manners and proper upbringing.”

“Mine? No, he’s yours. You can have him.”

“After him screaming at me? No, he’s your son, not mine.”

He stares at the wall for a minute. He then asks, “What did he mean by other world-views anyhow?”

“How should I know,” she asks annoyed. “I’m just as lost as you. Worldviews shouldn’t matter to him. I thought he knew to follow only the view of God.”

He stews in his office chair for a while and his wife leaves his office to go make herself useful with the dishes that have piled up in the kitchen. He sits and he contemplates what Aziraphale said for a long hard stretch of time. “I think this goes beyond Anathema,” he mutters and then events slot together in his mind like a puzzle coming together.

Emerging from his office he tells his wife of his revelation. “You were right. I haven’t been as strict with him as I should have been and now he’s fallen off his path but rest assured he’ll get there. I should have known something was going on when the Blackwood child kept hanging around Aziraphale but now I know for a fact that they’ve corrupted our son.”

With her light blonde brows raised to her hairline she repeats him, “Corrupted? Oh, no you don’t think he’s befriended the--”

“I think that’s exactly what Aziraphale has gone and done. He’s let himself fall into a trap of sin by spending time with that thing in its den of iniquity.”

“No,” she says as she scrubs a dish harder than necessary, “I would know if he was hanging out with the Blackwoods-- in their home no less.”

“What about while I was gone to my conference? You can hardly keep track of yourself let alone the kids, I’m sure he disappeared without you noticing for a few hours and that’s where he began to learn other ways. You must have neglected to--”

Putting a plate down forcefully she snaps, “So what this is my fault? It’s always my fault isn’t it?”

“I’m not saying that--”

“But you are. Here I thought you were willing to admit you were wrong but no, you can’t do that, can you? It’s not my fault you left me with six children to raise while you left for a week. Seven days! I spent seven days trying to get everything done for everyone in this house! Do you know how hard that was? And you come here and accuse me of neglect? When was the last time you spoke to any of our kids in a fatherly way? When have you--” She stops herself with a deep breath. “Nevermind. We shouldn’t fight like this, it doesn’t paint a good image of marriage for the children.”

She doesn’t doubt that everyone in the house has heard the argument by now and she’s correct. At this moment Aziraphale is upstairs staring out his window with a copy of  _ An Ideal Husband _ limply held in his hand. He wants to run away, he wants to disappear and never be seen again by anyone.

He can’t handle the questions they’ll demand he answer or the punishments his father will dish out after he’s done and confessed everything he’s ever done, felt, and said. 

Mr. Sanctus feels his jaw clench and his eyebrows lower transforming his face into a nasty frown. “We should call Aziraphale down.” He doesn’t wait for Mrs. Sanctus to respond before yelling, “Aziraphale Zechariah Sanctus get your ass down here!”

Oh, how he wants to run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be out really soon bc i'm a sucker 4 pain  
> tumblr: storiesandthyme


	15. spare the rod spoil the child (temptation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta so tell me if u see mistakes!
> 
> YES 2 CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY!!! WILD

tw: corporal punishment, heavy lgbt-phobia, transphobic and homophobic slur

* * *

When Aziraphale reaches the ground level of his house he’s shaking like a leaf. “Yes father,” he says with his voice wavering.

“Do you remember when I told you to tell the Blackwood's never to come to our church again?” Mr. Sanctus asks with an even tone.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why you thought that meant you could spend time with that family outside of church? What made you think that was okay Aziraphale?”

He plays dumb. “I don’t know what you--”

Mrs. Sanctus cuts in, “You’ve always been a poor liar Aziraphale. I didn’t raise you to be a liar anyhow, so why must you start that nasty habit now? Answer your father truthfully from now on, you don’t want this to go on any longer do you?”

“No, ma’am.” He shakes his head. “He just needed a friend and I thought that I could be one. I’ve never really had a male friend before either so I figured it could work.”

“I don’t think he is what you think he is,” his father says mockingly. It’s the first time he’s ever used a pronoun for Crowley. “That’s not a male.”

Aziraphale felt faint. He felt like the floor had been pulled out from underneath him and he was falling. “What do you mean?”

“Males don’t like other men. That’s a sissy.” Aziraphale visibly relaxes before bristling again at the language. He couldn’t even begin to try and defend transgender people on top of whatever else will inevitably get said about ‘the gays.’ Now he only has to hear one side of the harmful opinion. 

He asks, “How do you know he likes boys?” And you know what happens? His mother laughs loudly and harshly.

“Aziraphale don’t be stupid. It’s all in the way he dresses, the way he walks with his hips moving so unnaturally femininely, the way does everything really. He’s gay. And his mother is a lesbian, I know you must know that which only gives him a higher percentage of being gay himself,” she tells him matter-of-factly.

“But that brings a puzzling situation to light Aziraphale.” His father says mildly. “You undoubtedly knew about-- what is his name Anthony? Yes, you knew about Anthony’s...family situation and you still hung around him. Surely you should have known that wasn’t appropriate.”

“But he--”

“That wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Which leads me to my next question: what did you think was going to happen when I found out?”

Honestly, Aziraphale says, “I didn’t think you would find out.”

He purses his lips and looks at his son with great disappointment. With his hands, he motions for his wife to take over the conversation as he collects himself.

She bears a tight-lipped smile and does just that. “Why did you befriend him if you knew it was wrong? It’s clear by the fact that you tried to hide him from us that you knew that this...friendship was immoral So why?”

“He just-- I simply--” he sighs and hangs his head. “It was if we had a connection. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” she hums as if she could ever truly understand. “It’s not your fault he tempted you.”

He looks up, eyes wide in surprise. “Tempted me?”

“He saw you as you are, feebly minded and a push-over, and thought he could make you like him. He was wrong though, I know he was wrong because you’d never be like any of them, you’re too much of a wholesome family man for that.” The words stung and Aziraphale felt as if he’d been literally stabbed by his mother. The way she described him was hurtful, to say the least.

“He didn’t do anything like that,” he assures his mother. “You make it sound like he pushed himself-- we are friends. Just friends, I promise you.”

His father returns to the conversation but more distant. “Son, listen to me, people like that don’t want or need friends. They live horrible promiscuous lives and the concept of a healthy friendship is lost on them because all they know is their perverted version of human sexuality.”

Aziraphale knows if he keeps pushing he’ll never be able to leave this conversation so he concedes. “Right, of course.”

Something is gnawing at Mr. Sanctus though, something he can’t shake and he just has to ask. “Did you ever date Anathema?” It's obvious what he’s really asking. ‘Did you have Anathema act as your beard? Was she just a cover for you?’

If Aziraphale was braver, or if he was stupid he would answer with ‘Hell no.’ But he’s a coward. “Yes but not nearly as long as I had hoped.”

Something akin to relief floods his voice. “Good, good You understand why you can’t talk to him anymore, correct?”

“Yes sir, I understand.”

Mr. and Mrs. Sanctus share a look. “Say it,” his mother demands.

Aziraphale frowns. “What?”

“Say why you can’t associate with him. Make sure you really know why. We wouldn’t want to repeat this, now would we?”

“He’s a bad influence on me. His family doesn’t follow the word of God, he himself doesn’t follow the laws of nature.”

“He is a twisted amalgamation of flesh and bones meant to resemble a human-- as humans are created in God’s image-- but he is not. He lost his humanity when he chose to be the way he is.” His father adds mercilessly. “He is more than a bad influence. You must remember that.”

Aziraphale only nods. What more can he do?

“Grab a belt.”

“What?”

“You heard me, son,” Mr. Sanctus says cruelly. “Grab me a belt from my closet. Choose a good one or you’ll get more lashings than you think you deserve.”

The last time Aziraphale was hit he was eleven. Now at age seventeen, it’s more than just a scary thought to be hit by a grown man it’s humiliating. Hot tears swell in his eyes as he marches upstairs. He takes the first belt that is braided, as he knows his father likes the way those hit better than anything else and comes back down.

His mother has the Bible open to a bookmarked page. His father takes the belt and he takes five hits before she says anything.

The first reading is Proverbs 13:24. 

This goes on for a time. Five licks and then a reading. Eight passages get read. He’s bruised by the time the punishment is over and tears spilled only making his father more enraged. Because a man should be able to take this. A man shouldn’t cry over this. A man should take his punishment and still raise his head high.

Aziraphale was not a man. He was a boy. And boys don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.

After the physical part of his discipline, they went back to talking to him. Maliciously they made him on the wooden chairs of the dining room that way he could continue to feel his beating. His parents go on but he’s zoned out at this point, his brain filled with noisy static as he tries to distract himself from how much his heart, head, everything hurts. They talk to him for an hour but he hasn’t the faintest clue what they exactly say. All he knows is that by the time he’s sent to bed he’s absolutely exhausted.

He dreams for the first time in a long time that night. Crowley’s there. He’s sitting underneath an apple tree eating a Golden Delicious and humming a familiar tune. His hair is long and wavy reaching his mid-back. He has the faintest bit of a beard and every so often his red hair is interrupted by a speckle of grey. He looks older in the face too. Not so old that he’s middle-aged but late thirties at least. He’s taller, even more, lanky than before. But he’s just as handsome.

“Hello there angel,” he says with his lovely diluted British accent.

“Hi, Crowley. You look different.”

“I look grown,” He laughs. “Care for an apple?” He asks and then suddenly an apple is hovering near Aziraphale’s head. This one is red though, in contrast to the rich yellow of the other one.

Plucking the apple from the air Aziraphale takes a bite without answering. Crowley-- or at least this Crowley-- already knew he couldn’t resist. As he sinks his teeth into the apple the tree above them blooms rapidly. Apples of a variety of colors shapes and types blossom in between the leaves and Aziraphale gasps in awe.

So this is what temptation was? Amazing? Delectable? He smiles down at the older Crowley who is staring at him with a fond expression. 

“Do you like the tree angel?”

“It’s very pretty, yes.”

He says, “It’s all yours.” And then he disappears and the tree reverts to its normal state. Not nearly as breathtaking as before. But he thinks he can work on the tree with his own Crowley if he tries hard enough.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says before he wakes up with a goofy grin on his face. He’s no longer conflicted. He knows what he wants.

He wants Anthony J. Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I pumped this bad boy out bc I was like,,,,yeah
> 
> also: @delusioninabox I pushed up the romance. I know I told u Aziraphale gets his shit together on Christmas but turns out he gets it together now! (I miss calculated oops)


	16. I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobia after the ~~~

The first thing Crowley notices when he walks into school the next day is Aziraphale and how poor he looks. His eyes have dark circles underneath them and he seems paler than normal-- almost like a ghost. The second thing he notices is how instead of his usual straight posture he’s hunched over. That sets off an alarm somewhere in Crowley as the only time he’s ever seen his best friend look anything remotely like that was when he was coming down from a foul opioid high.

Aziraphale catches him staring. He gives a tiny smile almost like a form of reassurance but it’s broken and it doesn’t reach his eyes. Crowley walks over to him only for Aziraphale to stumble back and whip his head around in paranoia. 

He then surges forward, moving quicker than Crowley has ever seen him before. “Meet me behind the school after classes,” he says quietly and then runs off like a terrified little mouse. The whole interaction is bizarre and Crowley thinks about it for the rest of the day until he’s able to see Aziraphale again.

When he does see his friend he’s standing behind the gym, his eyes shifting in opposing directions every so often. He looks over to see Crowley approaching and makes a motion with his hands to tell him to speed up.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asks with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Whatever Crowley is expecting it isn’t, “I’m in love with you.”

“Ngk,” he responds elegantly.

Aziraphale says it again. “I’m in love with you. I love you Anthony J. Crowley and if you haven’t gotten over me yet-- which I’m sure you have but…I’d really like to kiss you.”

Crowley’s brain feels like it’s on fire. “Is this a joke? Like, a prank or something? Because if it is you better cut it out right now.”

“What? No--”

“--How could I get over you,” he interrupts and takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands before leaning down and planting a chaste, loving kiss on his lips. “I could never get over you. Hell might as well just freeze over before I consider forgetting you, angel.”

All Aziraphale can say is, “Oh,” as he’s put into shock by the confession. He just had his first kiss. And it was with a boy he really likes. Holy shit, he just had his first kiss and he wants another one! So he takes what he wants and this time it’s like he can feel every part of Crowley.

Unsurprisingly, Crowley’s hands wander further down the longer they kiss. He pins Aziraphale between himself and the brick building and Aziraphale lets out a noise akin to pain but it’s so small it goes unnoticed.

Aziraphale wants to keep going. He really, really, really wants to keep going but the way the wall is digging into his bruised backside makes it too difficult. He breaks the kiss and looks up at Crowley whose glasses are askew and his lips are bright red.

“I can’t-- you mustn't--” he struggles to find the correct wording as Crowley’s face begins to turn into one of worry. “Please don’t pin me,” he says finally. “My back, it hurts a lot right now…”

Crowley’s hands go flying back to his side. He steps back afraid he might hurt the other. “What happened to your back?”

Easily enough he dodges the question. “Nothing major.”

“I didn’t ask if it was major,” Crowley catches on to the dismissal, “I asked what happened to your back.”

The heat of humiliation from last night comes back to engulf Aziraphale. Unable to tell him face-to-face he ducks his head in shame before answering. “I got hit,” he mumbles.

“You what?” Crowley could have sworn he just said something like ‘I got hit’ which would be beyond fucked up.

Exasperated and embarrassed Aziraphale exclaims, “I got hit, alright? You don’t have to make a big deal about it dear, it’s fine.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide and he lifts his glasses above his face and onto his forehead. “How is that fine? Let me see your back--”

“--Please no--”

“--Aziraphale, angel, let me see your backside.”

He sighs and puts his head in his hands. “I really would rather you not see. Use your imagination, please don’t make me show you.”

“I’ll kill them,” Crowley growls and lets go of Aziraphale when he can see just how much he doesn’t want him to know the extent of the damage.

“Please don’t, I love them dearly.”

“They hurt you, they hit you! Wait, who hurt you? Which one of those bastards specifically?”

Helplessly he pleads, “Please stop. Don’t ask these questions, I don’t want to answer them. Don’t make me answer them.”

“Who hurt you, angel? Who the fuck laid a finger on you?”

His head begins to pound as he cries out. “Stop it, stop it, please! Please stop asking, please stop telling me what to do, I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you so just stop!”

“Angel--”

“No. Stop it,” Aziraphale says firmly. “I can take care of this, I can handle this. I don’t need your help. Please don’t try and involve yourself in my family matters. Corporal Punishment is perfectly legal and an acceptable form of discipline. You are acting as if their-- they're abusing me,” he says with his hands in the air irritation.

“Are you safe,” Crowley asks knowing the answer already.

Aziraphale is a very bad liar. “Of course I’m safe. They’re family.”

“I-- this isn’t okay. You shouldn’t be getting hit, that’s not right.”

Aziraphale frowns and rolls his eyes. “Do relax. It’s with a belt, not a whip.”

Mouth hanging open he says, “A belt? I thought they were striking you with hands. Is that even legal?”

“Of course it’s legal,” Aziraphale says. “I just told you it was. It’s called corporal punishment. It’s just another form of parenting, no different I’m sure than what your mothers do to you. I deserved it anyway.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have been hanging out with you but I was and I still am so I was punished as that goes against my parent's orders and expectations.” Crowley’s face is struck with terror.

“Did I cause this…?”

Aziraphale shakes his head ‘no.’ He then moves to hug Crowley and promises him he did nothing wrong. “No, no, no dear! You didn’t do anything, it was me who was in the wrong here. It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me, my dear. Your hands are clean.”

“But they…they hurt you because you spent time with me.” Crowley whispers hoarsely. “I’m so sorry angel, I should have been more careful, you told me they hated me and I just didn’t care and--”

“Nonsense,” he puts a finger to Crowley’s lips. “Absolute nonsense. I knew they disliked you and I didn’t care, I just wanted to be with you. If you had tried to stop our friendship I wouldn’t have let you. You are the most precious thing in my life, Anthony and I love you. You could never hurt me, especially not on purpose, and I’d let you know if you did, so please don’t think you’re to blame for me getting punished because that’s not true.”

He sighs. “Okay, I’m still sorry though.”

“Don’t be. You haven’t any reason to.

“So,” Crowley starts in an attempt to change the topic before he begins to cry, “are we like, dating?”

Aziraphale scrunches up his face. He thought the answer to that was clear but maybe not. “Would you like to be?”

“Yeah, very much so.”

“Well, I’d like that as well, lucky us. We seem to be dating,” Aziraphale smiles widely. Crowley gives him another kiss, this time on the forehead. It’s much more intimate than the others they’ve just shared.

“We’re dating. Nice.”

Laughter ripples through Aziraphale. “Yes my dear, we are dating. It will be rather nice, I do hope.”

They hold each other in that hug for a long while.

~~~

He is quietly doing Calculus homework in his room when Uriel walks in with a question.

“Is it true?”

Aziraphale looks up from his math and quirks a brow. “Is what true?”

“What dad said last night,” He says as if it’s obvious what he could mean. “Well, is it true?”

His memory was hazy from last night. He asks, “What did he say? I don’t remember.”

“Woah,” Uriel shakes his head, “he must have beaten you senseless. He called you a f--” and the rest of the world is too horrible to say. Aziraphale squints as he tries to recall his dad ever calling him such a slur and to his horror, he finds he can’t recall much of anything after getting spanked. 

Aziraphale stays silent for too long and his younger brother coughs awkwardly. “W-what if it was true,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Uriel blinks. “Well, then I think you’d be damned to hell.”

The words sting like lemonade in a cut but he presses on. “But what would you think? Would you care?”

“We’re the good guys Aziraphale, homos are the bad ones. I would care because that would mean I’d have lost a brother.” He sounds legitimately upset at the notion of losing his sibling. “I would hate to see you lose your way. I would hate to see you fall.”

Aziraphale swallows slowly. His hands itch and he feels a great need to fidget with them. “I won’t fall,” he says. And despite his brother’s condemning, he believes he truly won’t fall from God’s good graces.

After all, why would she make loving Crowley a sin when it truly was the best thing that had happened to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u miss Beelzebub? I miss her too don't worry she's showing up next chapter bc lets be real here, Crowley is putting on a brave face for Aziraphale rn...that whole hitting business isn't cool and he actually does blame himself bc he's an idiot. Next one is gonna take a while to put out as it's leading up to "the big ones" (aka Christmas time Chapter arc)
> 
> tumblr: storiesandthyme


	17. Beelzebub!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic-esque attack, drugs and alcohol 
> 
> also lot's of 'z' are 's' because bee never learned how to talk I guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *shows up 2 weeks later w/ a shitty chapter and my only excuse is NatWriMo planning has me fucked up*
> 
> also me: I HOPE YOU ENJOY TODAY'S CHAPTER

A week and some change goes by of Aziraphale and Crowley dating. In that week no one suspects a thing. Well, no one except Beelzebub who can’t help but notice a difference in Crowley. Finally, during the Wednesday before Christmas Break she confronts him during drama.

The class is doing love sonnets and simply put, Crowley looks completely besotted with whoever he’s imagining as he acts out the words on the page. Beelzebub watches him deliver Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 and immediately assumes the correct thing: he is in a relationship.

As Crowley finishes she can practically see the hearts in his eyes despite his dark shades on. “...If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved,” he says dreamily and all but floats back to his desk as the class applauds.

Ms. Potts, the drama teacher, sings his praises. “That was wonderful Crowley, bravo!”

It’s so sickeningly sweet that she’s sure she’ll get a toothache.

When the bell rings to signify the end of class she grabs him back the collar of his jacket and yanks him out of the classroom before everyone else.

“Ow, ow, ow! What the hell?”

She pokes his chest in an accusational manner. “What waz that?”

“What was what?”

She scrunches her face up in disgust. “That hideouz dizplay of affection, that’z what.”

Pink colors Crowley’s face for a moment before he regains his composure. “What are you talking about? I was just acting out the sonnet.”

“Okay, and I’m the prince of Hell.”

“But aren’t you,” He grins. “I mean, what’s what you named yourself after, right?”

“Fuck you. What aren’t you telling me?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Bull.”

The late bell rings cutting the conversation short. She looks up to the nearest intercom with a scowl before saying to him, “We’re leaving.”

“Sorry,” he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest, “I can’t skip. I did that like, a few weeks ago. Too much skipping and I’ll get a meeting with Ronald.”

Beelzebub rolls her eyes but doesn’t push. She knows how obnoxious it is to have to deal with the principle, Ronald P. Tyler. “Damn. Thiz izn’t over though.”

“Can it be though?”

She shakes her head. “No. I expect to hear from you at lunch or zo help me Zatan.”

“We don't even have the same lunch period,” Crowley says.

She replies nonchalantly, “I know.” And then walks off to her next class.

If Crowley had the tiniest bit of common sense he would have hide during lunch but he didn't and so when he walks into the Cafeteria hours later he's legitimately surprised to see Beelzebub leaning against a wall near the back exit.

She locks eyes with him and in an instant be knows it's over. With superhuman speed she’s in front of him, her eyes glaring holes in his temple. 

“Anthony.”

“Uhg, you don't give up do you?”

“No I don’t,” she smiles but it’s predatory. “Are you going to tell me now? Or do I need to...incentivize you?”

Crowley’s attention perks up. “And that means?”

“The same thing it always means.”

“What time?”

“Right after school,” She says, “you’re coming home with me.”

“Meet you by the flagpole?”

She looks at him. Of course by the flagpole, where else would they meet? “Don’t be late.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

True to his word he’s not late. He’s fashionably late by ten minutes and if Beelzebub wasn’t desperate to get going she would have socked him in the jaw for making her wait. It is clearly calculated from the way he saunters inter her view with a smirk and an Iced Coffee he got from only God knows where.

“I hate you,” she glowers at him.

He pretends to be hurt. “After I got you an iced coffee this is how you treat me?” He takes a sip from the cup and then she snatches it from him.

“Mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.”

“You zound like Gabriel,” she says and sucks the entire cup dry in one go.

With surprise he says, “You’ve been still talking to Gabe? I thought for sure you’d get bored of him by now.”

“Well, I haven’t,” she replies curtly. 

When they finally get inside her house Crowley is feels as if he’s frozen to the core. “Holy fuck it was cold out there. I’m gonna die Beelz, this is it I’m dead, I’m dying, I’m gone.” He stumbles to her kitchen table and sprawls himself out like a body in need of medical attention.

She shakes her head with mock disapproval. “I juzt love that you ztart with being dead and then dying. Zo different from how mozt ztart dying and then they’re dead.” 

“I’m dying on your table and that’s what you say to me?”

“What elze were you looking for…? Thiz?” She flips him off with both hands.

“You’re nasty. Nasty, disgust, no good woman.”

“Why don’t you die about it then inztead of bitching.”

He groans, “Uhg. Why are we friends?”

She shrugs and walks out of the room. She can be heard moving around in the next room over.

“Do we have the house to ourselves today,” he calls.

She takes a moment but does respond. “Yez, we do. My dad iz out working, making it zo we can afford to live here. Azmodeuz has been gone for dayz, doing whatever, and the otherz...well you know they left a while ago.” 

Beelzebub doesn’t like talking about her home life. Her parents had six kids unprepared and nearly underage. She liked to imagine the stress was the reason her mother died instead of the alternative. She didn’t like to talk about the alternative. She was the youngest, every other sibling had left as soon as they were given the chance and where they went she didn’t know. She didn’t care either.

She walks back into the dinning room with a tiny baggie a tray of rolling paper.

“Well then,” Crowley says sitting up on the table, “are you ready to get high?”

“Are you ready to tell your secretz?”

He scoffs. “Be a doll and roll the joint nice and tight, won’t you?”

With a sneer she shoves the tray into his hands. “Be a doll and do it yourzelf, won’t you?”

So reluctantly he does. It’s one of the ugliest blunts Beelzebub has ever seen but it will do. Since Crowley made it he gets the first hit. Beelzebub hands him a lighter and he takes a breath in only to hack it back out.

“Too big of an inhale,” she says knowingly as he doubles over in a coughing fit. He’s mad that she’s right but even madder that he made the mistake. She takes the blunt from his hands and shows him how to properly smoke. She doesn’t cough. She inhales, exhales, and gives a toothy smile as he glares at her.

“Tada.”

“Show off,” he mutters.

“Don’t be jealouz, be better.”

They fall into a nice kind of silence and Crowley lets himself fall into a comfortable haze as he and Beelzebub pass the joint back and forth. She starts to hum as she curls into his side. He lets her lay on him and thinks about how absolutely soft she is right now, something he’s never seen before.

At some point the joint is too short and he crushes it between his fingers. It burns like hell for a moment before all the pain is gone. He lingers on the sensation for a moment before letting himself close his eyes and rest.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he opens his eyes but he knows it’s dark. His head is still fuzzy as if he’s high but he can think clear enough that he knows he’s nearly sober. He shakes Beelzebub awake. “Last time you told me you and Gabe were not that serious but I think you lied to me.” 

She lifts her head to glare at him. She was obviously having a perfectly good nap before he went and interrupted it. “We aren’t.”

“But we don’t do this Beelze,” He says slowly. “We don’t cuddle on the couch like mushy idiots. Something is different here. You’re more...lovey?”

“Lovey? No, that’z you with your zecrete girlfriend.”

“Secrete girlfriend?”

“Yez, the one who all but zang that poem for.”

“Firstly, it was a sonnet. And secondly I don’t have a secret girlfriend.”

She thinks for a moment before asking, “A zecret boyfriend?”

Oh how she hit the nail on the head. Quickly Crowley says, “Stop changing the topic. Back to you and Gabe.”

“He doezn’t like being called Gabe. He likez hiz given name much better, Gabriel.”

“I’m sure the bloody bastard does but I don’t give a damn what he prefers,” Crowley sneers and Beelzebub headbuts his side in retaliation. 

“Don’t be rude.”

“That’s rich coming from you. Now tell me all about what’s going on between you two.”

Beelzebub pushes herself off Crowley and looks him in the face. With a serious face she says, “I think-- I know I’m in love with him.”

“Excussse me?” The shock causes him to lisp together his ‘s’ vowel and he stares at her with his eyebrows high, arched above his forehead.

She groans and turns a shade of red he doesn’t even think he could describe if he tried. “Don’t make me repeat it! I know you heard me!”

“I heard you, sure, but I don’t believe it. Hell has frozen over…”

“Uhg, fuck you Anthony!”

“You,” He says waving his hands for effect, “in love with a good Christian boy? No. Disgusting.” He sticks his tongue out in revulsion. “Does he-- are you-- are you dating? Like, officially?”

Her beet-red face and silence tells him all he needs to know and more. “Gross. Gross! No, I thought you would have gotten over him by now but you’re dating? Really? For real?” 

“Zhut up,” she manages to get out weakly. 

“I need a drink,” He declares and gets up to go to her fridge where he knows there’s a six-pack of cheap beer calling his name. “I need a drink if we’re going to talk about your love-life with Gabriel Fucking Sanctus.”

She says, “I hate you.”

He slams the beer cap open on the edge of the counter and takes a swig. It tastes like shit. He looks over at her after his sip and says, “And I hate the fact that we both are getting it on with Sanctus brothers so I guess we can both hate everything about this, huh?”

Her first reaction to the confession is to scream at an ungodly pitch, “I am a lady! I would never!” Her second, is to fully process what Crowley said.

“...Anthony you didn’t…”

“Shit.” He chugs the rest of his beer.

“Bring me one too,” she sighs and he does, but not before getting another for himself. “So you did tell him?”

He nods, “Yeah. I told him actually at the Halloween party.”

“Anathema’z?”

“The one and only.”

She almost does a spit-take. “How!? I waz there! You’ve kept thiz under wrapz for nearly two monthz? You’ve been screwing around with him for a month and I didn’t know?”

“We aren’t screwing around,” Crowley cuts his eyes at her. “We are dating. And it hasn’t been two months or even one month. He uh, he rejected me.”

At this Beelzbub does do a spit-take. As she frantically tries to wipe up the beerstain forming on her living room carpet with her shirt sleeve she asks, “How could he?!” 

“That’s what I said! He had the gual to even tell me he liked me or something like that but he couldn’t be in love with me. It was ridiculous really. Left me an absolute wreck too.”

“Wait, iz that why we didn’t talk much all of November? You were licking your wounds?”

Crowley gives a guilty one-shoulder shrug and gulps down some more of his bottle.

“You bitch.”

“Sorry for needing time to cope,” he says unkindly.

“Coping doez not mean hiding youzelf in your room. It meanz talking to people.”

He doesn’t respond, instead he finishes his second beer.

“You are an idiot.”

“What’s new.”

She forms a grimace. “Zo he broke your heart-- I did tell you he would-- but you’re dating anyway?”

“He was scared Beezle. You have to understand he was scarred.”

“Of what,” she asks. “What? Not like hiz only friend, Anathema, would care if he was gay. It’z not like his mom and dad would even find out, you’d be careful.”

“Careful…” he stares down at the empty bottle, his sunglasses slip ever so slightly off his face and she can see his eyes and how shaken he is. “...Careful doesn’t really cut it.” He lets out a pained huff. “I’m going to tell you something but you can’t tell anyone else.”

“Or what,” She raises a brow seeing this as a challenge, “you’ll kill me?”

“I’m serious. What I’m going to tell you is deadly important. You have to swear to me you won’t tell anyone.”

She looks him up and down with skepticism until he takes off his glasses and her face softens. “Right. I got it.”

“I think his parents-- Aziraphale’s I mean-- I think they might be abusing him.” The way he says it sounds like a question though.

With a stoic face Beelzebub silently encourages him to continue.

“He lives in a lot of fear around them. It’s like they’re playing God with his life except whenever they get called out on it they fall back to their own God and it seems super manipulative. I’m not at home obviously, I can’t know what’s really happening but the way he talks about them and the bruises he’s got just-- I don’t think he’s safe.”

Leaning back on the couch she asks, “Have you asked him if he’s safe?”

“He said he was.”

She scoffs. “He’z full of bull. Bruisez you told me, right? Yeah, church boy iz having zomething happen to him that can’t be legal. Why am I not telling anyone?”

“Because he said he was safe. And If he really is I don’t want him to get upset with me or angry that I betrayed his trust or something like that. I can’t just confront the Sanctus’ and I certainly can’t have you do it.”

“Do you think they’re all living like that?”

“What,” Crowley asks.

“All of hiz ziblings, Gabriel included, do you think they all get hit or only him?”

Crowley hadn’t thought about that. The color drains from his face as his imagination runs wild with all the horrible things that could have happened to all twelve of the Sanctus children. And there were younger kids in the house too, he knew that from Aziraphale, but he didn’t know how young. At what age did these sort of things start? When would they end?

He clams up, cold sweat dripping off his face as he zones out into his awful fantasy. His hands have closed into fist on his lap as he shakily takes shallow breaths. He hates the scenarios that keep filtering through his head but he can’t stop, not now.

He takes a sharp gasp as he tries to grasp ahold of reality again. Maybe it isn’t as bad as he’s imagining, maybe he’s overreacting-- that’s what he tells himself anyway-- and Beelzebub takes him by the shoulders to stare him right in the eyes.

“Calm down, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats over and over again as he comes down from his thoughts. His face is wet. He’s not sure if it’s the sweat or if it’s tears. He doesn’t want to know.

He corakes out, “I’m sorry.”

“Zhut up, idiot. You don’t have any reazon to be.”

“This wasn’t fun,” he says like that’s a reason.

“I didn’t bring you here for fun, I brought you here to find out what waz going on with you. And now that I know I’m here to help you through it.”

“Since when have you been a good friend?”

She smirks. “I’ve alwayz been a great fucking friend.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to be alone during thiz. I’m here for you no matter what. Don’t zhut me out again, okay? I can’t help your pathetic butt if you do.”

Crowley laughs. It’s wet sounding and full of relief. “Thank you Beelzebub Prince, you’re my second best friend.”

“Only zecond?”

“Aziraphale is first.”

“Bitch.”

Crowley shakes his head with amusement. “Want to finish that six pack now?”

“No,” she looks to her barely drunken beer bottle that has found it’s way on her floor, thankfully not spilled anymore than it was before. “And you zhouldn’t either. Go home Anthony, get zome zleep, eat zomething, take care of your body.”

“Thanks mom.”

“I’m for real. You worry a lot about otherz but you ‘ought to worry about you at zome point. I can’t keep doing it for you.”

He rolls his eyes but nods all the same. “Yeah, got it. I’ll see you around?”

“Zee you around lover boy,” and with that she walks him to her front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what I want!!! THOSE COMMENTS!!!!


	18. Out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> being out to the people that matter in your life, well, matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The support I have received for this fic is awesome! I am doing NaNoWriMo but my sports season ended so I should have more time for this fic now!

Aziraphale was doing something he had only ever dreamed of doing. He was skipping school. Well, really he was only skipping first and second period but that was over an hour and a half of instruction he was opting out of. Very rebellious if he did say so himself, and he did.

He was at Crowley’s this morning watching his mother’s scold him for encouraging Aziraphale to skip.

“You shouldn’t be doing such activities, Anthony.” His mother chided. “And you definitely shouldn’t be supporting Aziraphale doing the same.”

“Calm down, angel’s only missing P.E. and some other useless class.”

“I’m missing Latin, that’s not a completely useless class.”

Crowley scoffs, “It’s a dead language. Let it die already and stop studying it.”

“You’re horrible dear, you know that? Latin is alive and well.”

“In what universe?”

“This one.”

Inserting herself into their bickering mama says, “Well if you’re going to stay home for the first two classes one of us ‘ought to drive you to school so we know you actually went.”

“Uhg, mama come on. Don’t you trust me?”

Both his moms smirk and say, “No.”

“I’m hurt,” he slams a hand to his chest and feigns offense. “I even made an academic plan for me to ease your worries, surely that should show I’m trustworthy.”

“Your future plans are not for us, they are for you and you know that.”

Okay,” Crowley concedes, “but doesn’t that mean I’m--”

“You and Aziraphale are not staying in the house by yourselves,” his mother tells him sternly. With that Crowley knows she definitely has a solid guess about what has changed between he and Aziraphale if she’s taking on that tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” she shifts back into her cherry demeanor, “Would you like something to eat this morning or are you going breakfast-less, again?”

Aziraphale gasps, “No! You don’t eat breakfast, my dear? It’s the most important meal of the day!”

“Thank you,” His mother cries out, “finally someone with sense in this house.”

“If the boy doesn’t want to eat he doesn’t have to eat,” mama disagrees.

“Oh hush, you only say that because you don’t eat either. You taught my boy bad habits.”

“I think I learned all my bad habits from the both of you,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale laughs quietly at the family’s antics. He so desperately wished his family was like this-- playful, kind to one another, filled with unconditional love and support. Instead, he had the leftovers of a family, one that at a point in time was filled with all those things but slowly each element withered away until nothing but the shells of the Sanctus’ were left.

“You are such a cute family,” he finds himself whispering under his breath to which Crowley turns around and says, “You can be apart of it too. Hell, you kind of already are a part of it.”

At first mama and mother blink in surprise at how bold of a statement their son just laid out but when they see Aziraphale’s face dust over with light pink and slowly turn a bright, hot red they smile.

“I couldn’t-- I wouldn’t want to impose dear--”

“Impose? I want you here. We,” he gestures around to his family, “want you here.”

Aziraphale releases a sigh that is heavy with unwavering fondness and puts his head in his hands to cover his face so that none of the Crowleys can see the stupid smile spreading across him. Deep down Aziraphale has always wanted a family, and yes he technically had one but sometimes it feels more like an obligation to love them than a desire to just do so.

“You mustn't just say things like that,” Aziraphale croaks out feebly.

“Awe, why not angel?”

“To quote you, my dear, ‘You say things like that and then wonder why I’m in love with you.’”

The noises that follow are a combination of Crowley choking on his own spit, both mama and mother gasping loudly, and Aziraphale awkwardly trying to backtrack after what he’d realized what he had said.

“I mean-- that’s not-- I think you have the wrong idea--”

“I knew it,” Crowley’s mother screams. “You owe me ten bucks Gina, pay up sucker!”

“What?” Asks Crowley.

Mama hisses back to her partner, “Alice, they aren’t supposed to know we bet.”

“What?” Asks Aziraphale.

“Well know they know we bet because you just said so.”

“What?” Aziraphale and Crowley ask in unison because they are a little slow on the uptake here.

“Nothing Anthony,” Mama says hurriedly. “I’m late for work, your mom can handle this one.”

“Absolutely not. Pay up,” she sticks out her hands assumingly for the ten dollars. “Then you can go.”

Mama grumbles something that sounds a lot like a very creative set of curse words and then says audibly as she forks over the cash, “Why couldn’t you two get your shit together during New Year's Eve? I bet good money on the first kiss being on New Years'.”

At first, the couple stands there with the matching expression of wide, unbelieving eyes and gaping mouths. Crowley is the first to recover from the situation. “Ten dollars is good money?”

“Watch it brat,” she swats the back of his head. “Ten dollars can buy you a ticket to two and a half movies, good money in my book.”

“So you bet money on us?”

“Of course we did Anthony,” mom says as if that’s a normal thing to do. “We could see how hopelessly into Aziraphale you were but it seemed like Aziraphale wasn’t aware of how hopelessly into you he was.”

Aziraphale repeats quietly, “Hopelessly?”

“Yes, yes. It was painful really. I imagine it was like watching me and your mama first meet only it seemed like every interaction you two had was like that.”

“Like what,” Crowley asks.

“Like you were a love-struck fool who could only dream about holding hands down a nice city street and kissing in the moonlight.”

“Fuck,” Crowley curses, “she’s right.” And then he laughs while Aziraphale is too busy trying to figure out how he could have been so blind to how blindly in love he had been acting.

“Are we that visible,” he asks with fear and mama promptly denies it.

“No, no, we just have expertise in the area of pathetic pining. Gay-dar if you will, that’s all. No one else would know if you hadn’t told them.”

Crowley readily agrees, “Yeah, she’s just too noisy for her own good. We’re not so undeniably good together that anyone would assume we’re a couple. Trust me on that.”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale says unconvinced.

“I promise you angel, no one but my parents would think that.”

Briefly, Aziaphale’s mind goes back to weeks ago his conversation with his father. That’s not what his dad had assumed, and that was before they had even become official. He ignores the bad feeling in his gut however and returns back into the moment with Crowley. When he finds himself again he’s on Crowley’s couch watching some movie he’s heard of but never seen. Around is waste is his best friend-- his boyfriend-- with his face turned toward the screen watching lazily.

Aziraphale takes a large breath.

Crowley asks, “Are you back now?”

“What?”

“You zoned out at one point during the conversation with me and my moms. Mom thinks what you’re doing is dissociating.” Crowley’s tone is impersonal and robotic. As if he’s bored or just trying his best to keep his rampant emotions out of the conversation. Aziraphale sees it as the former.

“I’m deeply sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“I know you didn’t angel. But this isn’t the first time you seemingly have left this world, leaving your body while your brilliant mind is off somewhere else.”

“Again I’m sorry--”

Crowley lets out a frustrated sigh. “Stop apologizing. I’m not mad at you, I just want you to be aware that you’re doing it. It’s not your fault, apparently, it comes from your mind shutting down and or purposely forgetting information in an attempt to conserve a positive or at least neutral mental state.”

“Oh,” he says, “I’m crazy.”

Twisting himself upright Crowley looks into Aziraphale’s eyes. Greyish blue eyes meet a pair of sunglasses-less brown and gold and for a moment nothing matters. “You aren’t crazy.” And for a moment Aziraphale believes him.

But just for a mere moment.

“Okay.”

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

Aziraphale doesn’t respond so Crowley drops it begrudgingly and turns back to the movie. When it ends he finally gets ready for school day by putting on something other than pajamas. The snow has cleared and it’s unusually warm for an early winter day so they walk to school and slip in through the back.

As Crowley and Aziraphale say their goodbyes Crowley can’t help but think about what Beelzebub had said to him the last time they hung out.

‘All of his siblings, Gabriel included, do you think they all get hit or only him?’

And he gets the overwhelming urge to ask Aziraphale but he restrains himself and lets his boyfriend slink away to his class. Crowley then walks out of the back again and to his house to sleep off the horrible pit in his stomach.

His mom isn’t happy with him for skipping another school day but he doesn’t have the heart to argue with her, so he takes her anger in strides.

Mama wears a contemplative frown for the rest of the night. She had thought they had figured out what was wrong with their boy and yet here he was acting just as aloof as he had in November. It was an understatement to call it only mildly concerning.

~~~

“What are you doing for the break,” Newt asks as he and Aziraphale stand outside of Anathema’s last class’s classroom. The two are waiting for her to finish up wishing her teacher a happy holiday.

“Nothing much I’m afraid.” Aziraphale Just spending time with family. And you?”

“Oh, you know…” he says awkwardly, “the usual.”

“Right.”

Lucky for the both of them Anathema steps out a moment later. “Ready to go boys?”

They nod and she walks with them home. First, they go to Newt’s house and as they make their way to Aziraphale’s house he blurts out, clearly unable to contain it any longer, “I’m dating Crowley.”

“I know.” She doesn’t even have the decency to look shocked and keeps walking, leaving him to stand still wondering how she could have possibly known.

He asks as she’s now more than ten paces in front of him, “How?”

Anathema stops and turns back towards Aziraphale. “A woman never reveals her secrets.”

“Anathema,” He whines, “tell me so I know how to appear less obvious!”

She giggles. “Please, Aziraphale. The only way you could be more obvious is if you kissed him right here on the street. It’s the way you carry yourself, like your in love or something.”

“...Or something,” he mutters as his face grows redder by the minute. He hadn’t known he was so obvious. Were Crowley’s parents lying to him? Could everyone see that they were together? 

She smiles at him with a content sigh. “I’m happy for you. You deserve this, you deserve him.”

“Thank you but we’re supposed to be careful, you know how my family can be.”

“Yeah, well good on you for rebelling and taking what you want,” She says. “Besides, I only noticed because I know you and I’m like you. I think the saying real recognizes real fits here. Just please don’t be one of those friends that ditches all their other friends as soon as they get into a meaningful relationship. I’d miss you too much.”

“Ha, you needn’t worry about such a thing Anathema. You know I’m loyal.”

She nods and her face changes for a moment to something like sadness. “Yes, you are. Almost to a fault,” she whispers mainly to herself.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing,” her expression brightens, “nothing at all.” They continue to walk and talk for a few more minutes before they reach Aziraphale’s house. “I’ll see you after the break, okay?”

“Right,” he waves good-bye to her. “Take care Ms. Device.” When he makes it into his house his mother is on the couch talking to his second oldest sister, Michael who had just flown in today for the Christmas holiday.

Damn. That meant more were coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, ect. are majorly appreciated! Thank you for reading!  
> p.s. how Aziraphale managed to slink off to the Crowly's for the morning is in the next chapter


	19. Christmas (1/3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for you're comments! i'm sorry this chapter is so short but i'm just struggling with keeping up my word count and all that,,,,ehhhh  
> Christmas will be split up in three parts (as you can see) and I hope to have the second part out by next week by the latest!

Michael lets out a little gasp when she sees her brother. “My word, you’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you.” 

He has not. He’s still too short for his liking.

“Mykie, it’s been too long!” He fakes enthusiasm. 

She hasn’t been home since last Christmas and Aziraphale hasn’t missed her. It has, just like his height, been too short of a time for his liking.

“Yes, it really has, hasn’t it? What’s been going on with you?” The way she says her words make him think she already has some idea of what he’s been up to. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother had already informed Michael of his latest ‘misbehavior.’

“Nothing of note really.”

She gives him a look. “Mother already told me…”

He holds back his desperate urge to shoot his mom a nasty glare. “...About?”

Mrs. Sanctus cuts in, “About the temper tantrum you threw. You know, Michael knew a gay guy in college and even he was just like that Blackwood kid.”

“His name is Crowley--”

“--It doesn’t matter Aziraphale,” his sister shakes her head in disapproval. “They only want one thing and it’s not morally right. You’re better off without associating with the likes of queers.”

“I haven’t,” he says like a liar. “I don’t even talk to him anymore.”

Michael smiles at that. “Wonderful. Mother didn’t tell me that. Well, I guess you’ve learned your lesson then.”

“Mhm.”

“Then there is no need for me to reiterate the point, is there? I’ll be in my old room if you want to chat some more Aziraphale but right now I need to tend to my husband, he’s a little jet-lagged from the flight.”

He isn’t quite sure how to respond to that so he just watches her stride upstairs and then it’s just him and his mother. She asks him, “How was your last day of school for the year?”

Bluntly he says, “It was fine.”

“I heard you had to leave early for a project this morning, what class was that in?”

“What pro--” Oh right. In order to get out of the house early and without suspicion to see Crowley he had made-up some project he had to set-up at school. He didn’t expect anyone to ask him to elaborate on his lie. “--It was an economics project.”

“On what topic of economics?” She interrogates him with narrowed eyes.

“The uh, the Stock Market.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale begins to sweat. “It was a very interesting project, I had to talk about how the stock market collapsing in the ’30s affected the creation of suburban areas in the ’50s and ’60s.”

“That sounds fascinating.” She says but her face doesn't match her tone.

“It was.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answers Mrs. Sanctus waves her son away and Aziraphale goes to clean his room. He hasn't been explicitly told but he can guess that is going to be forced to share his room with a sibling or two and he wants to be prepared when his area inevitably gets taken over.

~~~

Gabriel arrives the next morning and looks even more ragged than he did during Thanksgiving break. Aziraphale helps bring up his luggage from his car to his room and in an odd moment of what he labels as unusual kindness Gabriel thanks him.

It’s so strange that even Michael comments on it but Aziraphale shakes the encounter off as the Christmas spirit flowing through him or something like that.

Through-out the day more and more siblings show up to the house and Aziraphale finds it harder and harder to maintain a smile as he’s hugged and prodded, and pushed around by incoming guests.

Even cousins-- which not even Mr. Sanctus knew were coming-- enter the growing household making it so much more crowded than it ought to be. Mrs. Sanctus nearly has a fit trying to recount the plating for Christmas Dinner but she handles it just as she should; quietly and behind closed doors.

Most notably Metatron and Sandalphon, Aziraphale's least favorite family members by far, came by nightfall and greeted him with sneers meant to resemble smiles.

“Azira-fail,” Sandalphon says stressing the last syllable, “how are you? Still, with your nose in a book, have you?”

“Yes cousin,” he replies coolly, ‘I’m still literate. Are you?”

His father hits him square on the back for that and he sputters out an apology immediately. Sandalphon takes it with a sneer pushes past Aziraphale to see the other family members.

Sandalphon and Gabriel have historically gone together very well. When they were children Gabriel would act as the leader, despite being a few years younger, and Sandalphon would be the loyal yes-man.

Though as Gabriel grows impatient by Sandalphon’s constant presence three steps behind him it seems that that is no longer the case. Aziraphale watches as his oldest brother spends the rest of the day narrowly dodging his cousin with watchful eyes.

A small part of Aziraphale is glad he's not the only one becoming restless around his own family but a bigger part is too preoccupied wondering what exactly has changed in Gabriel to make him act this way.

He gets his answer when Gabriel pulls him aside after dinner and drags him outside, far from anyone else. It’s cold outside and as the freezing air hits his face Aziraphale asks, “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“I trust you Aziraphale,” Gaberial says which causes Aziraphale to grow concerned. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I trust you,” he repeats himself, his tone thick. “I trust you and I like having someone in the family I can trust so don’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Or else.” And of course, he has to tack on that extra threat for his reassurance because in case Aziraphale decided today would be the day that he would no longer be trustworthy Gabriel wanted some insurance-- no matter how weak it may be-- that he wouldn’t spread this.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong at University? Are you changing majors or something?”

“No, if it was that simple I wouldn’t-- well it doesn’t matter. No, I’m not changing majors. I’m bisexual.”

Aziraphale blinks, uncertain he heard correctly. “I’m sorry?”

With a growl, Gabriel says, "Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry but I didn’t hear you correctly,” Aziraphale chuckles nervously. “I thought you said something preposterous.”

Weakly he says, “Whatever you heard it was right.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Why?”

Gabriel's face twists into one of vexation as he hears the question. He moves to walk back into the house, probably intent on never speaking another word about this, but is stopped by Aziraphale gripping his arm rightly.

“That sounded horrible, I apologize, I really do. I meant why are you telling me?”

Ever so slightly his face relaxed into a neutral expression and he sighs heavily. “Why wouldn’t I? Surely you understand.”

Aziraphale frowns in confusion.

“I heard about what happened with you and Crowley. I know that dad over-inflates things but it wasn’t as if I couldn’t see how you two interacted when he would enter the church. Whether or not you two are together, you like him.”

Despite it being colder than hell outside Aziraphale felt warm at the prospect of his love for Crowley because so prevalent but quickly that warmth was placed with fear. Once again, it seemed everyone knew and it was pointless for Aziraphale to even try hiding his relationship.

“I do like him,” he confesses quietly. “And we are dating, but at the time of my punishment we weren't.”

Gabriel shakes his head. “That’s dangerous Aziraphale.”

“I know.”

“Imagine what could happen-- what will happen when he finds out.”

“I know,” he says with more conviction. “I’m not a child.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you need to be careful.”

“I am. We are.”

Clearly unconvinced Gabriel raises a skeptical brow but allows the topic to drop for now. “Okay, let’s go inside before we freeze. We can talk about this later when the sun is out and we don’t have a high chance of catching our deaths.”

“Alright.”

When the brother’s walk back in their father asks them what they were doing outside to which Gabriel lies smoothly about how they were discussing how Aziraphale could follow in his footsteps and attend a world-renowned university if he just had a few more extracurriculars to which Mr. Sanctus agrees heavily with.

Aziraphale resists the urge to frown. It seemed that no matter what Gabriel was always going to be a bit of a prick, whether straight or bi.

With what could be a secret off his chest Gabriel fell back into his usual routine with Sandalphon and the two cousins hung out the rest of the evening much to Aziraphale’s confusion. He supposed that Sandalphon had never said anything particularly homophobic in his life-time but all and all he was still a twat-- though, perhaps that's why Gabriel and he got along so well.

Aziraphale goes to bed with his new knowledge in his head and smiles to himself at the fact that he now knows five people, Crowley, his mothers, Anathema, and Gabriel, like him. He guesses that the night he as told by the Crowley’s that there were many more LGBT people-- more queers-- in the world they were telling him the truth because in such a short period of time he had found what he deems so many.

And it felt good to know that he isn’t alone in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter you get a more in depth convo with Gabriel and Aziraphale about the whole bisexual bomb. Also Metatron speaks next chapter...but nothing he says is importaint
> 
> also, thank you for the comments and kudos and bookmarks and such it makes my whole damn life


	20. Christmas (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the family must get a Christmas tree! it's TRADITION

It’s Getting a Christmas Tree Time and actually attempting to get a tree into the house is harder than anyone of the Crowley’s is expecting it to be. It turns out that only having four people-- Beelzebub has come over for the holidays always-- who were all under six feet, try and lug a six-foot seven-inch tree into their living room wasn’t the wisest decision and they were learning that the hard way.

Beelzebub is currently cursing out the poor tree that was stuck in the front door as Mama shakes her head in defeat and Mom looks at the two ladies with a fond expression.

“I don’t think it’s going to fit,” Crowley says.

“Zhut the fuck up,” Beelzebub retorts as she tugs the tree by its tip through the door frame-- or at least tries to. “And help!”

“Nah,” he laughs, “I’m good.”

“Azz hole.”

“That's me.”

“Really Anthony,” mama sighs, “would it kill you to help us out here? Aren't you a plant whisperer or something?”

He grins. “You made your bed now lie in it.”

“Watch it kiddo,” mom says and the three women go back to muscling the tree into the house. It takes another ten minutes and quite a lot of cursing and scattering of pine leaves for the tree to make it into the living room. 

The next challenge is to make the tree perfectly straight. Crowley can do that. He walks up to the tree after it's placed in its holster and asked it, “Do you feel lucky?”

Much to Beelzebub, mama, and mom’s surprise, it seemed like the tree shakes its tip in a way that imitates a nod.

“You do? Well, don't.”

The tree stands still but is still slouching.

“Don't feel lucky punk, I’m the goddamn devil who punishes misbehaving, pathetic excuses for foliage like yourself.”

Beelzebub really wants to laugh right now at his words but the way Crowley sounds throws her into the realm of terror. His tone is low and even in a dangerous sort of way. The tree starts to shake. Mama gasps.

“Now,” he starts again watching the tree squirm with hidden delight, “I'm not sure if you know this but right now you're barely subpar. You’re in my living room, so stand up and act right!”

The Christmas tree shakes violently for a few seconds and then it seems as if the trunk rearranges itself into a straight, perfect line. Crowley gives an approving nod.

“What did you do and how did you do it?” Beelzebub ask.

“Nothing really…”

Mom laughs in earnest. “You are a strange kid, you know that?”

He shrugged.

~~~

Over in the Sanctus house, Aziraphale sits in disarray. The last bit of the entirety of his siblings have arrived this afternoon and now the sizeable house is jam-packed with people making it feel like a tiny shack in the woods.

There are twelve children in total. From oldest to youngest they are: Sopheriel (female 25), Michael (female 23), Turiel( female 22), Orphamiel (female 21), Veriel (female 19), Gabriel (male 18), Aziraphale (male 17), Zerachiel (female 15), Uriel (male 14), Onoel (female 13), Raphael (male 13), and Jophiel (female 13).

The last three, of course, are triplets and after Mrs. Sactus pushed those three out of her she made the executive decision, much to her husband's disapproval, to shut down the baby factory. Mr. Sanctus was a traditionalist who didn’t believe in birth control, condoms, or any common sense really so the idea of being married to a woman who purposely made herself infertile made his skin crawl-- though not nearly as much as the sinful stain of a divorce would on his otherwise squeaky clean record.

It should be worth noting that Sopheriel and Michael are both married and brought their respective husbands, Peter and Jacob, only making the house even more crowded. Again, the Sanctus family home is large, but it's bursting at the seams now.

Aziraphale feels suffocated. No matter where he goes there are people there. His room? No longer safe as he’s now being forced to share it. His backyard? Nope. Orphamiel brought her dogs with her this year and so there are a bunch of mutts running around no longer giving him peace.

“Aziraphale,” his mother calls him out of his sulking. He’s sitting at the dinner table by himself, something that should never be the case in a houseful of people. “Are you done with your pouting? I need something from you.”

“What would that be?”

“I need you to round everyone up. We are going to the Christmas Tree farm this afternoon and we’ve got to fit everyone in Ye Ol’ Faithful.”

Ye Ol’ Faithful is the name of a giant white van that can hold 20 people legally and 36 people if you ignore the law. It’s parked in the forest behind the church and is only usually used for church events or storage but every year in December it gets put to better use.

"Do I have to," he asks with a whine growing in the back of his throat.

She looks at him as if he's crazy. "Of course, you do don't ask stupid questions like that. Now, do as I say."

And so with great annoyance that he tried to skillfully hide off his face, he sets off to find his brother Gabriel who would surely help him out of the sheer need to be helpful.

He approaches Gabriel and to his surprise, his oldest brother says “No.”

“What? Why not?”

Rolling his eyes as if the question is beneath him he says, “Trying to get everyone in one car is like herding cats. I’d rather not. Besides, it's not my responsibility because I wasn't asked to do it.”

Aziraphale frowns. “What's wrong with you?”

“Hm?”

“I thought we were bonding together but it seems you're still as cruel to me as ever. “

Gabriel quirks a brow. “You know, I could always be worse.” He’s right. “This isn't cruel Aziraphale it's indifferent. And bonding? That’s a strong word and you know it. We merely have a single thing in common.”

Aziraphale feels his blood pressure spike. He’s used to his brother, really he is, but this hot and cold attitude is starting to become more obnoxious than confusing and he wants no part of it.

“I don't have time for this…” he says and stalks off to get the rest of his family. It takes forty minutes but eventually everyone has piled into Ye Ol’ Faithful. The drive to the farm is an hour one way and it's a painful one.

Aziraphale is all too happy to have himself out of that hot, stuffy, over-crowded car and in the fresh air-- that is until the cold hits him and he internally groans. He recalls being younger and loving the Christmas season, he loved the tradition of getting a real tree and all but now he’s just filled with animosity towards it.

Though, that might be due to the fact that it's twenty-five degrees out and he's without gloves.

It takes two hours, yes two whole hours, to find the perfect tree-- which happens to be a gorgeously colored dark green ten-foot pine-- cut it down, pay for it, and then to tie it to the top of Ye Ol’ Faithful. In those two hours Aziraphale felt the incredible urge to swear three times, he lost feeling in all his fingers and toes, and he was subjected to the insensate chattering of Metatron.

Metatron was not a gossip because gossip was a sin and he would be the first person to tell you that. He did, however, know everything about everyone, seemingly as omnipotent as God herself. Because he knew everything he felt the need to tell everything.

Perhaps he thought it was his divine duty, or perhaps he was just a bastard, who is to say?

In the two hours Aziraphle was out in the freezing New England forest he learned that one of his cousins was probably getting married because she got knocked up, two of his second-uncles had a gambling addiction, and three of his aunts had female hysteria-- which Aziraphale then kindly reminded Metatron that wasn’t a thing anymore. 

That unsurprisingly didn’t put a damper on all his other gossip which he assured Aziraphale was “Nearly exactly completely correct.”

How reassuring.

The tree decorating was fine. Chaotic sure, but none of Mrs. Sanctus' precious glass ornaments broke which isn't something that can be said for every year. Aziraphale keeps his distance from Gabriel which in turn means he got to keep his distance from Sandolphone and Michael, ever the perceptive woman, watches them interact.

Michael has always held the title of 'the most careful Sanctus child.' She rarely found herself in trouble during her youth, even less so than Gabriel, and used her obedience to her advantage often. When you were obedient you could slip between the cracks, and because of that, you were able to witness more.

Out of all the things she had witnessed in her life never could she say she’s ever seen Aziraphale so silently enranged. Most wouldn’t notice but does and it confuses her to watch her little brother go through-out the day fuming quietly-- acting as if he’s seconds away from a meltdown.

Taking matters into her own hands she asks him politely, “Would you mind helping me out Aziraphale?”

He responds skeptically. “With what?”

Putting her lips together in a thin line she says, “It’s really rather time-sensitive so if you don’t mind following me.” Which of course leaves no room for argument, especially not when the rest of the family turns to look at him and Michael.

They watch and wait for him to defy her. They want something else to harp on him for. Mrs. Sanctus, the closest parent to the siblings, fully expects him to reject her and metaphorically holds the rest of the family back from pouncing on Aziraphale.

They look at him like starving wolves and he’s a sheep, perfect for the slaughter. Aziraphale doesn’t give in to them and instead chases after her. She leads him into their father’s study and locks the french doors to ensure privacy.

“What do you need help with--”

Her entire demeanor changes. As if he’s shifting downward-- or perhaps she’s simply growing taller in seconds-- she looks down upon him with slitted eyes and one question to ask. “What happened to you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What happened to you Aziraphale? You’re filled with hate. I can feel it. Whenever anyone says anything to you or you are asked something you seeth out this ugly haze of hate. Why do you hate us? We’re family, not the enemy.”

Aziraphale takes a breath. “The enemy is just why I-- well no. I don’t hate you, Michael. I don’t hate any of you really, it’s not in my nature but…” He sighs. “I don’t like you.”

“I figured,” she grimaces. “But why? What have we done to you? Why are you turning your back on this family? Why don’t you love us?”

“I--” He feels his chest tighten helplessly. “I love you all don’t you dare say I don’t. I love you all so much that it hurts Michael. Every day I pray for you and all of our siblings because I love you and I love them. I’m not turning my back on this family I just can’t follow the teachings anymore.”

She ignores his affection and moves to close all the blinds on the windows. She knows her family and she wouldn’t put it past them to sneak outside just to hear what she and he might be discussing.

“The teachings are our family Aziraphale. When you blind yourself to the words you blind yourself to us.”

“I don’t want to be one of you if all I’m going to do is feel shame.”

Michael scoffs. “Shame? Shame is a good Aziraphale emotion. It reminds you that you’re human and humans are sinners. You should feel shame and it should remind you that you are bad.” He looks stricken as she continues. “You are bad and you must be fixed which is why mother and father are here to teach you how to be good. God created shame to remind us all that when humanity fell from grace that we were bad and vile creatures that were no longer worthy of God’s grace. Before the fall Adam and Ever walked Naked without Shame and now we, descendants of the original sinners must bear the shame they gave us.

Aziraphale has heard this story thousands of times and every single time he hears it he swears the story gets even worse.

She continues, "and yet you still are given chances to relish in the Lord’s grace and for that, you must be thankful. Are you thankful?”

He nods.

“Then show you’re grateful by respecting your family,” she says. “Do you remember your ten commandments Aziraphale?”

“Of course I do.”

“Recite them.”

Shakily he starts, “you shall have no other gods before me.”

“Good,” she says in a tone that should be reassuring but makes his blood go cold instead.

“You shall make no idols. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. Keep the Sabbath day holy. You shall not murder. You shall not commit adultery. You shall not steal. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. You shall not covet what is not yours.”

“Nine.”

“What?”

Putting a tightly gripping hand on his shoulder, she says, “That was only nine. You’re missing one. The one you so desperately need to remember.”

In an instant, he blurts out, “Thou shalt honor thy mother and father.”

“Perfect. That’s all ten. I’m proud of you.” She doesn’t look proud. “Now don’t forget them again. Or else there might be an issue, right?”

“Right.”

She moves to unlock the doors but then stops short. “And Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s not just you who has seemed to have lost their way recently. Gabriel is just as confused as you. I promise you’ll both be set on the straight and narrow again though, so don’t you worry about it. You’ll learn to love us again, you only need to get rid of the distractions.”

~~~

Crowley watches his parents decorate the Christmas tree with a cup of cocoa in his hand and smiles at how absolutely in love they are. Mama and Mom are too busy dancing to instrumental Christmas music to notice how he stares with envy.

Briefly, he wonders if he and Aziraphale are ever going to have a Christmas together, living all by themselves. He hopes so. He really does hope so.

Beelzebub had gone home and so he has no one to tell these utterly self-indulgent desires to. In an effort to curb his sappy feelings he looks down into the slim light brown liquid and stares himself in the eye. He gets a good look at himself, he scrunches his face up to see it change in the reflection, he frowns exaggeratedly, he does a whole lot of things in the cup to get him to think about anything about how much he wants to spend Christmas with Aziraphale because if he doesn’t stop soon he’ll get sad.

“What are you doing,” Mama asks with wide eyes as she watches the spectical.

Crowley, too into his own reflection to think of a lie, says honestly, “Thinking ‘bout Aziraphale.”

She cast a sideways glance to her partner. “Oh. That didn’t sound too happy, are you two okay?”

At that Crowley shoots his head up. “Of course we are! I wouldn’t fuck this up this early, Jesus!”

“No one said you would mess anything up,” Mom cuts in. She doesn’t like his tone. “What’s wrong? You weren’t like this a few minutes ago.”

Curse attentive parenting. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cut the bullshit, what’s wrong.”

He figures he surely can’t get out of this, not now, and lying isn’t the best course of action while she’s suspicious and invested. So, he doesn’t lie but he doesn’t tell the whole truth either. And that’s not even close to a lie, right?

“I’m thinking about how he spends time with his family during the holiday. You know how he’s like super religious or whatever, but his dad and mom are obviously another breed of Jesus fanatic. I guess ‘m just wondering how he’s doing. I imagine it’s a lot. to be around. Especially during the birth of Christ time.”

Mom’s face softens. “Oh, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, I bet he is.”

“Really,” Mama says. “I’m sure he knows how to deal with his family, he’s known them since he was born. If he couldn’t handle them by now he’d have told one of us and he could have spent the holiday over here.”

“I’m sure his dad would be thrilled at that prospect.”

“Doesn't matter much what his father thinks, does it? This is about Aziraphale, right? So who cares what Mr. Sanctus might think, it's unimportant.”

“Right.”

Mom smiles reassuringly. “You shouldn’t worry. He’s just with his family, he’ll be fine kiddo.”

Unwilling to let himself fret anymore he swallows his hot chocolate whole in one gulp. It’s long since cold and he forces himself to grin. “I’m not worried.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you actually help us decorate the tree instead of just watching us struggle with the damn lighting, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course you two need my help...” He mutters playfully and gets up from the couch.

“What was that brat?”

“Eh? ‘Nothing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there isn't an excuse for why this is 3 weeks late unless family stuff counts...I hate being a kid, I can't wait to be an adult (or at least not a teenager) and be my own person, you know?


	21. Christmas (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally Christmas Day!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I have no issue w/ Orthodox Christians but they get made fun of in this chapter for having a different Christmas date  
> also can y'all tell i've never lived in the 90's?

It's a white Christmas this year because of course, it is. Tadfield hadn't not had a white Christmas in years. Eleven years to be exact. Adam Young liked to claim it was because he was born and blessed Tadfield with such perfect weather.

Aziraphale often liked to repeat the myth only replacing the word blessed with cursed. 

So it was a snowy, bright white Christmas and the youngest children in the Sanctus house were rushing down the stairs to get to their presents. It was much too early in Aziraphale’s humble opinion, only five am, but it didn’t matter what he thought, he wasn’t the one with childhood wonder in his eyes and a hunger to rip open the presents that lay underneath the tree.

Before they can all get down to the main level Mr. Sanctus stops them from the top stair. “Children, where do you think you’re going?”

“To get presents,” says the youngest of the triplets, Jophiel.

“Is that what Christmas is about? Getting Gifts?”

“No,” she says. 

“What is it about then? Aziraphale care to explain?”

He cared very much so. He cared not to explain if it could be helped. He wanted a nice, relaxing Christmas but it seems he wouldn’t be getting that.

“Christmas, as the name suggests is about Jesus Christ. On December 25th according to most Christians, Jesus Christ was born to the virgin Mary. This is a celebration of blessing on this earth.” 

“Good. Anything else to add?”

“Uh,” he thinks quickly and adds, “We give presents to symbolize the presents given to Jesus by the Wise Men: Frankincense, Gold, and Myrrh. It’s not about greed or worldly possessions but instead our devotion to giving our thanks to the Lord.”

“Yes, exactly. Now wait for your mother and then you may run on down and open your presents.”

As if one cue Mrs. Sanctus sashays out of her bedroom with a wide, plastic grin on her face. “Merry Christmas everyone!” She greets them with faux excitement. “You may now go open your gifts.”

And just like that, the floodgates have been opened. 

Aziraphale watches as everyone rushes downstairs and he can’t help but feel a little deceived. All this talk about how much Christmas is about Christ and his family still is more overjoyed to get gifts on this day then they have ever been to go to Church.

He makes his way down to find his pile of gifts but is in no hurry. He knows they won't go anywhere and he knows that he’ll have plenty to dig through so trying to speed-run it is no use. 

He is handed his first present by his father once he walks up to the tree. It is wrapped in festive red and green wrapping paper and said ‘From: Mom + Dad’

He delicately opens it as he does with all his gifts-- he has no intention of ripping the wrapping paper to shreds if he doesn’t have to-- and puts on a stiff smile when he sees what is inside.

It’s a phone. A mobile phone. A cell phone. A Nokia 9000 Communicator, one of the best on the market today. 

He’s a bit disgusted.

He’s always been more of an old fashioned person and because of that he found he certainly hated the way the modern world was turning to personalized phones. Soon he thought people might not even have home phones! What kind of world would that be!?

A horrible world, that's what.

With a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, he says, “Thank you, mother.”

She beams genuinely. “I knew you'd love it. Your father didn't want to get you a phone, he thought you didn’t need it, but as a young man growing up in this digital age it just makes sense, right?”

“Right.”

Aziraphale's younger siblings all gather around the phone and oo and awe at the gadget. Gabriel looks at it with a bit of jealousy.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale's next couple of presents are just as disappointing. There is a surprising lack of books-- or unsurprising depending on if you take into consideration his family's indifference to reading.

Books are all he asked for this year. Nothing but books. He wasn't picky with his books. Maybe some James Baldwin, maybe something else he didn't care. He just wanted to read something new. 

All the other siblings got things they asked for. Whether it was a new set of professional drawing markers or a computer game, it didn't matter, they all got what they wanted.

It took a long time for him to get anything resembling a book and when Aziraphale unwraps the small package he audibly lets out a whimper of fear.

It's a bible. Not any old bible though, a bible with his name engraved in gold on the black leather cover. It's not a normal bible however, it's a carbon copy of the same bible Mr. Sanctus uses to preach. And not only is his full name engraved but the addition of the title Rev.

Reverend. Reverend Aziraphale Sanctus.

“What's this?” He looks at his father with a tightly neutral face. He doesn't want this to be real. Maybe if he tries hard enough he'll be able to disappear through the floor, never to be seen again.

“Is it not obvious?” 

“No sir, it just seems like you are insinuating that I’m to go to seminary school and lead a church. “

“Not any church,” The man says. “Our church.”

“Right. But wouldn't Gabriel be better suited for such an--” he struggles to get the next word out-- “honor.”

Hearing his name Gabriel looks up from his pile of presents and says, “No. I have too much to do with my studies at the moment. I couldn't go add on to my classes. Besides you don't have a plan after high school and this perfect.”

“I have a plan…”

  
  


Mrs. Sanctus, Michael, and Sandalphon all chime in saying in sync: “Reading isn't a plan.”

Aziraphale tries his best not to pout. “My plan is not to read my young adult years away. I want to major in literature and teach it as a professor. That's plenty respectable, isn't it?”

Mr. Sanctus shames his head. “Son, being a professor is respectable but literature? All you’d be doing is leading other people into a useless degree.”

“Useless?” He gapes. “How could you say that?”

“Well it just is, no sugar coating it. You have too much potential to waste on something as unnecessary as a literature degree. I won't watch you waste your potential.”

“But what if I’m not um, holy enough for leading a church?”

His father's face contorts into an odd frown that his hidden anger behind it. “Are you questioning me,” He asks and Aziraphale suddenly remembers the day he first met Crowley. That same question had been asked with the same intensity.

Fuck.

“No, sir.”

“Good,” he smiles but it’s all teeth. “So seminary school it is.”

“Of course father.”

Mrs. Sanctus nods approvingly as do the rest of his older siblings who are well-aware of and are totally compliant to the power imbalance just displayed. The younger Sanctus siblings, however, are too young to understand so when they nod approvingly they can be pardoned for sheer ignorance.

The oldest have no excuses.

~~~

Crowley wakes up with Beelzebub hovering over him. “Wake the fuck up,” she yells overtop him. “It’s gift time!”

Groggily he yawns and wipes his eyes. “How did you get into my house?”

“I have a key idiot.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck. Now get up it’z Chriztmaz.”

He whines, “We aren’t even Christians.”

“I don’t care it’z Chriztmaz which meanz it’z time for giftz.”

“I’m not wearing a shirt.”

She considers seeing her friend shirtless and then remembers that they get nearly naked every time they smoke so she doesn’t care. She yanks him up by the arm and he allows her to drag him to his mothers’ room. “Wake up--” She cuts herself off when she sees that the two women are already decent and ready to go. Well, that takes all the fun out of it.

“Yes, yes, we’re coming. Just one moment and then we’ll be ready to pretend like Santa came and shit,” Mama grumbles. It was too bloody early in her opinion so she was less than thrilled to be up at what felt like the crack of dawn but was really only seven.

True to her word she and Mom are ready to go in a few seconds and the four of them walk over to the living room. Crowley wishes he could claim to be a civilized human being but in the presence of presents, he goes feral.

Diving straight in he rips open the package he’s been eyeing up and down since it arrived under the tree yesterday.

He’s pleasantly unsurprised when he reveals the casing of a Nokia 9110I. He had overheard his parents debating the purpose of such a tech-advanced cell phone a few months ago and pieced it together when he noticed that they both had bought cell phones within the last two years and were unlikely to be buying another one so quick.

“Finally!”

Mom raises a brow. “Finally?”

“I knew you were gonna get me a phone but I didn't know when exactly. I picked up this present ‘cause it looked small enough to house a phone in it.”

“Excellent detective skills.”

“I know.”

Mom and Mama snort. “Okay sure son,” mama rolls her eyes dismissively but all in good humor. “Now Beelzebub, why don’t you open this present, hm?” She hands her a box of similar size and it’s wrapped in the same sort of paper.

Beelzebub looks down at the package and then looks at the women with confusion. “Alice, Gina...this isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

Mom grins. “Why don’t you find out.”

“I can’t take thiz.”

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” she counters.

“But ztill--”

Crowley interrupts with, “Open it, dude. You know you can’t get out of here until you do.”

“Fuck you guyz.” She says and opens the gift to see an exact replica of Crowley’s new phone but hers is in black instead of grey. She sniffs, determined not to cry. It wasn’t like she and the Crowley family hadn’t ever exchanged gifts before but this was-- it was simply too expensive.

“Take thiz back,” she insists and hands it to mama.

“Absolutely not,” she shakes her head. “You’re going off into adulthood soon and you must think we’re crazy to let a family member loose in this wild world. We want to keep in touch with you wherever you might be and a phone is the best way to do so.”

“I’m not going off anywhere. I can’t go to college, you know I don’t have the money let alone the grades for it.”

Mom says matter-of-factly, “Well you aren’t staying here. I know you hate it here and when you graduate this May we’ll be sure to buy you a train or plane ticket wherever you want but you’ve got to take the phone with you. It’s a dangerous world out there…”

Beelzebub fails to follow the no crying rule. “Thank you,” she manages to get out as the first joyful tears slip out.

Mama gives her a hug. “Anything for you. We may only have one kid in the eyes of the law books, but you’re our kid in our personal books.”

~~~ 

Aziraphale physically couldn’t keep himself up anymore by the time dinner rolled around. He had gone to church service which started at six-thirty in the morning and lasted until noon. His father preached about many things such as the War on Christmas, how Santa was a horrid myth used to dissolve the importance of Christmas, and how every supposed Christian who celebrates Christmas on January 7 was not only a pagan, but had been consumed by the devil.

So, it was Mr. Sanctus’ usual lies with a little more anger behind each bit.

Aziraphale wishes he had paid more attention to the sermon though, instead of worrying how he was going to weasel himself out of the religious predicament he found himself in. He couldn’t continue his family's church. Just the thought of him staying in his small town made him sick but the idea of not only staying but continuing an institution that was the cause of his many frustrations in life?

No way.

He spent the whole day with that at the forefront of his mind but no one brings it up again until the final course, dessert, is being served.

Metatron says, “I think it’s quite remarkable that you’re going to continue the church. For a while, everyone in the family was worried you were some sort of heathen.”

“Oh,” he replies not really listening. He’s far too interested looking at the table cloth and zoning out.

“Yes. In fact, there was a rumor-- but you all didn’t hear it from me--” he tells the crowd who has now leaned in to listen to him. “Anyway, apparently everyone thought you we're some sort of homosexual hermit.”

A few cousins grin and nod. They had heard that rumor. It was very popular amongst the entirety of the Sanctus bloodline as it seemed to be the one with the most validity behind it. All of the siblings, all twelve of them, freeze with a frown.

“Of course,” Metatron hurries along when he sees the face of Mr. Sanctus, “that’s a lie. I mean, you had a girlfriend, right? A party girl if I remember correctly.”

Aziraphale blinks slowly. Calmly-- or as calm as he can be-- he says, “She wasn’t a party girl. She had one party.”

“And she’s a girl, isn’t she,” Metatron gave a small smile. “Same thing.”

“So when are you getting married,” Aziraphale snaps. “I heard you broke up with Ruth recently, why was that?”

Ruth and Metatron had been going steady for about two years before they unexpectedly broke-up a few months ago. It was still a sore spot.

Mr. Sanctus, never one to miss a chance at undermining someone, asks “Do tell why is that?”

Color draining from his face, Metatron scrambles to mutter some lame excuse and Aziraphale isn’t bothered for the rest of the night. When it’s time for him to go to bed, he dashes to the bathroom really quick and calls Crowley’s home phone number, which he, of course, knows by heart.

It rings three times before anyone picks up.

The rough voice of Beelzebub comes through the line. “Hello?”

“You’re not Crowley…”

“Oh, Jezuz Freak. Lemme get Anthony for you.”

She chucks the phone over to Crowley before Aziraphale can be offended by the Jesus freak comment. “It’z your angel,” she mocks and blows a kiss. 

He gives her a middle finger. “Aziraphale? Merry Christmas how’s your holiday been?”

He smiles so wide his face feels as if it’s going to break open. “Oh dear, you wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIMMIE THOSE COMMENTS KIDDOS


	22. Babysitting Peoper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes and babysits pepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta as usual TELL ME OF ERRORS

Coming back to school from a break was always a difficult thing to do but it was a little easier for Aziraphale now knowing that he had Crowley to look forward to. They had talked a little bit over the break thanks to his cellphone and yeah, Aziraphale was starting to find there was, in fact, a use for modern technology but it wasn’t the same as being face to face.

So when he sees Crowley getting something out by his locker he momentarily forgets himself and runs up to the other with a bright, warm grin. “Crowley, dear, how was your break?”

Crowley blinks and then shifted his eyes around to see if anyone would take interest to him and Aziraphale talking out in the open. Once he deems it safe he responds. “Boring until you called.”

“I’m sure it was not--”

“It was,” he insists. “It was just me, my moms, and Beelzebub fucking around and eating our body weight in candy canes. Hearing your voice really brought me out of my holiday stupor though. Glad you finally got a phone angel, it’s about time you stepped into the modern world.”

“Modern, Uhg. I will admit that cell phones are a handy inversion but they are a poor replacement for interpersonal communication. Talking on the phone was nice but this is much better, don’t you think?”

“You would say that-- wouldn’t you? You are so old sometimes.”

“And you’re too quick to change your ways,” Aziraphale counters with a smirk before walking off to find Anathema.

At lunch, Crowley isn’t anywhere to be found so Aziraphale sits with Anathema and Newt and listens to her drone on about her latest internship at the local library system.

“You should apply for the summer program,” she tells Aziraphale. “Newts applying to be one of the IT helpers-- don’t laugh! Anyway, he’s totally going to get the job so if we all ended up working there this summer, wouldn't that be great?”

Shrugging Azirapahel asks, “What would I even do with an internship like that?”

“You want to be an English teacher, right?”

“Professor,” he corrects a little agitated. “Not just a teacher. I want a P.h.D.”

“Right,” she says. “So being a librarian assistant deals with books and English and...well do I need to say more or are you being purposely obtuse?”

“It doesn’t much matter.”

Newt shakes his head. “Did something happen? You’re kind of acting like…”

“An ass. You’re acting like an ass. What’s wrong? Did something happen over break with your family.”

Aziraphale says bluntly, “I’m going to seminary school.”

“No you aren’t,” Anathema frowns. “English professor, remember?”

“No, I haven’t got a choice. Father made a whole announcement and everything about it.”

“In front of everyone,” Newt balks. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say no that way. So I’m going to seminary school-- not university and I’m going to become a preacher I assume. Not quite sure what else I would learn.”

“Can they do that?”

“Do what? It’s not a crime to have a different career opinion for your child.”

“No, no it’s not but this feels more sinister than that. You told them about your English plans right?”

“Do you think my father cares for literature?”

“Oh,” Newt gasps aloud. “What if you weren’t accepted into seminary school? Surely they couldn’t be mad at you if you just didn’t make it into a class.”

“Why wouldn’t I be accepted?”

“Too many differing opinions?”

“Oh yes,” Anathema agrees, “controversy is the easiest way to get denied anywhere.”

“It would be pointless. Everyone knows my father and they know me. If I tried something like that it would just come across as some poorly timed teenage rebellion and no doubt would embarrass my father into a terrible rage.”

“Yikes.”

“Yes, yikes.”

“You sound like you need some low stress in your life this weekend.”

“What I need is a spa day and the chance to start life over again.”

“Like I said, you need a low-stress weekend. I have one lined up but you could take it off my hands. You’d get paid all the same.”

“Who are you babysitting?”

“Pepper,” Anathema says with a smile.

“What do you want in return?”

“For you to be happy.”

Aziraphale snorts. “Let’s be more realistic, okay dear?”

“For you to smile?”

His guidance counselor had already been noted of the sudden change in career choices. With an amiable smile, she seemed to be completely content with the idea of him attending seminary school but she was also quite a devout churchgoer at the Sanctus church so perhaps she was biased.

Telling Crowley had been the hardest part of it all explaining to him that no, any dream he dreamt was a figment.

Naturally, Crowley didn't believe him.

“What's All of this... Surely you're taking the pits with me here. I mean you seminary school it just doesn't sound very realistic right angel?-”

“Well, it's not like I've got a choice not everyone has parents who use free-range parenting. My father's already made arrangements hits no use to argue.”

No, you don't get it, this is just the 1st step. Next, he'll be-- uh, I don't know what's it that they’ll do?”

“Arranging my marriage to some pretty blonde,” Aziraphale offers. "Maybe have a billion nice children who all end up doing something respectable with their lives...the usual."

“Yes, that-- wait no! Go-- Sat-- Somebody!”

“Yes yes I don't be rather tragic, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, I haven't figured out a plan to get me out of the predicament and I fear I won't be able to...so how about we try to resign to my fate with no fight, hm? No point getting more hurt struggling against the inevitable.”

“Defeatist attitude if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Unfortunately dear it’s my new outlook.”

Crowley huffs. “You sound like you’ve really gone and given up.”

“I think I rather have…”

“We’ll think of something...I will think of something, promise you that angel.”

“I could be a preacher though. You don’t have to believe to lead a congregation. There are plenty of stories about horrible pastors stealing money and doing unholy things while upholding a pristine image. I’d be no different.”

“Only you wouldn’t be committing any heinous acts. Wait,” Crowley’s eyes widen, “what do you mean you don’t believe? That’s your thing!”

Aziraphale let out a resigned sigh. “I don’t know, this all seems too much. I know, the Lord is ineffable but it’s hard to see what God’s plan is for me. I wish I was an angel.”

“You are one.”

“A real one,” he rolls his eyes. “I bet they know what God is planning. They must be in the know about the divine plan up there.”

“No,” Crowley says after a beat of thought. “I don’t think anyone knows what God’s planning. Not the devout followers, not the heretics who renounce the Lord, not even the angels.”

Eyebrow’s scrunching he says, “That’s even worse, I would think.”

“I could marry a preacher…” Crowley admits absently when he reaches his house. As he enters his birth mother hears him and raises a brow but doesn’t question the weird declaration. Surely she had heard wrong, that’s all.

~~~

When Aziraphale shows up as Pepper’s babysitter instead of Anathema Ms. Moonchild doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

“Ah, Ana is busy, yeah? Okay well, you know the whole run-down so it’ll be fine. I won’t be back until at least two AM so uh, have fun bunking in. Just kidding,” she laughs loudly like she told the funniest joke in the world. “I will be out late though hun so if I’m not back by midnight you can just leave but lock the house before you go, yeah?”

Aziraphale didn’t bother to ask how he was supposed to lock the house from the outside. It didn’t matter, robberies didn’t happen in Tadfield.

“Oh, and Pip is grounded so no having her call the boys or anything like that.”

“Mom it’s Pepper!”

“Oh, I named you Pippin and I’m going to call you something of that nature! Now don’t give Aziraphale a hard time-- if you do I’ll know-- and be good.”

“I’m always good.”

“God, I wish.” And without much else, she left. Aziraphale noted she was scantily dressed in a tight black ensemble so wherever Ms. Moonchild was off to it wasn’t anything like a church function so no God involved.

“I’m going to call Adam,” Pepper declares as soon as her mother has left the drive-way.

Aziraphale looks down at the girl. “No.”

“Uhg! But I want to!”

“Your mom said no so I’m saying no.”

“But I’m bored,” she complains. “You’re boring…”

Aziraphale blinks. “And? How is that my issue? I’m getting paid whether or not you have fun.”

“You’re a bastard,” she decides and he gasps.

Scandalized he demands to know. “Who taught you that word!?”

“I knew it was a word before but Crowley used it.”

“Anthony Crowley?”

“I don’t know the women Crowleys.”

Surprised he asks, “You don’t? I think they’d like you.” Yes, they would like Pepper quite a lot.

“Do you know them?”

“Somewhat. Would you like to?”

“Of course! Adam has met them. He says they’re really nice.”

“Where did he meet them?”

“What’s with the interrogation? Do you want to meet them?”

“Well, I--”

“Wait no, you’ve met them right!? Crowley talks about you a lot.”

Blushing Aziraphale glances at her with uncertainty. “I’m sure he does not. He might take kindly to you telling lies about him either.”

Loudly she insists she’s telling the truth. “But he does! He talks about you like he does Bea which is all the time. I think you two are his only friends though...”

“Bea?”

“The girl with the long name that I can’t pronounce.

“Oh, you mean Beelzebub!”

“Yeah her. I call her Bea for short ‘cause her name is too long and she said I could. I think it’s cool she chose her own name like me. Makes a name mean more when you choose it yourself, I think.”

“Yes, I think so too.”

“If you choose a name for yourself, what would you choose?”

Aziraphale, taken aback by the question asks her to repeat herself and give him more time to think. He’s never thought of renaming himself. He rather likes his name, meaning, and how it’s spelled so why would he change it? But as long as Pepper was asking…

“I’ve always like Ezekiel or Ezera. They are much more common biblical names than Aziraphale which would be helpful. And they’re shorter too, not nearly as hard for new people to pronounce.”

“Not like Bea’s name,” Pepper nods.

“No, not like her name. Is my choice a good one?”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “When you leave are you going to change your name?”

“Leave?”

“Yeah. Like, when you go to college and never return.”

“Why wouldn’t I return?” He’s puzzled by her thought process here. “Gabriel returns often and he’s a three-hour drive.”

“Because Gabriel belongs here, you don’t.”

“Belongs...here?” Aziraphale is shocked. He’s grown up here! His whole life has been spent here! How could he not belong?

“Small town stuff, he belongs in a small community. You don’t...I don’t think you’re happy here. I think I’m happy here in this setting and know Adam and Brian are happy but Wensleydale probably will go to some fancy university and live in some big city like New York or Chicago. Not a very small community in places like that, right?”

“I suppose not but even so you’re wrong. I’m not leaving for college.”

“How are you going to teach English without college?” Did everyone know of his professor's dreams? How funny was his parent's dismissal of them when everyone in town knew how much those dreams meant.

“I’m not going to teach English,” he tells her.

“What!?”

“I’m not going to teach English. I’m going to be a pastor like my father and take over the church.”

“No offense but that sounds like it sucks.”

He tries very hard to not take offense at her language. “It doesn’t suck. It’s different but I love the church and I’m sure I’ll love being the pastor.”

“You didn’t choose this, did you?”

He shrugs.

“You know, you’re gonna be an adult and people are always talking about how adults can do what they want, so maybe you should do what you want. If you don’t want to be a pastor then don’t be one.”

“It’s not that simple. Does your mother just do what she wants?”

Pepper thinks to her mother’s outfit tonight and says, “Yes. Well, no. She tries to do what makes her happy and as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody it’s all good. So kind of. But I think that’s what Anathema calls critical thought and that’s how normal decisions get made anyway.”

“Anathema teaches you too much,” Aziraphale complains.

“No. I just ask a lot of questions.”

“All the same. Now, your mother didn’t say what to do about dinner. I’m sure we can make something like spaghetti with what’s laying around your house, right? Care to help?”

“Are you asking because I’m a girl,” she teases.

“Yes, that’s why I’m asking. And also because if you don’t eat something substantial you’ll start to eat sugar and conversations like this will be much too hard if you have a sugar rush.”

“You could solve the issue by letting me talk on the phone.”

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. “Nice try.”

“Crowley is right, you are an angel. Good, obedient cherub.”

“cherub?”

“That’s a type of angel right? He says you’re a cherub probably. I think they’re his favorite type of angel…”

“Hm,” he replies.

“Don’t tell Bea,” Pepper leans into his side conspiratorially, “but I think you’re his best friend, not her.”

“Oh, I think she might already know my dear, I think she might know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated and so are kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> I CRAVE THE KUDOS AND THE COMMENTS! FEED MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
> 
> tumblr: storiesandthyme


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